Hold your breath, make a wish, count to three....So shines a good deed in a weary world....A little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men....Where is fancy bred, in the heart or in the head? Is it my soul that calls upon my name? We are the music makers...and we are the dreamers of dreams....Up the airy mountain, down the rushy glen, we daren't go a hunting, for fear of little men. You see, nobody ever goes in... and nobody ever comes out....And don't forget the name...Tusk.