The silver Swan, who, living, had no Note
when Death approached, unlocked her silent throat.
Leaning her breast upon the reedy shore,
thus sang her first and last, and sang no more:
“Farewell, all joys! O Death, come close mine eyes!
More Geese than Swans now live, more Fools than Wise.”
Acoustic and folk instruments (or at least samples of them) weave and intertwine simple melodies and harmonies, delays build, and cavernous echoes rebound.