When the sun sinks low
And the moon starts to show.
A figure will dance out of his cave in the park.
He’s set and he’s ready for the evening lark.
A sigh of his strings and a song in the night
Stirs the teapots that sit in the soft moon-light.

Every night they float out
At the ’Night Elf’s first shout.
Yes, late every night
When the moon shines bright,
The teapots will dance
Like they’re in a trance.

Slowly floating off the shelf
Toward the haunting song of the Midnight Elf.
Across the floor
And through the door
They dance to his song
All the night long.

Away to the meadow they dance and they sway
Like the flowers that do so during the day.
Puffs of steam and a haunting whistle
Start the song of their nightly epistle.
Then a figure joins them with pointed ears
Who’s helped them dance away the years.

Standing in the middle of their dancing ring
Making his fiddle jump and sing,
Is the Midnight Elf.
He sings all day to himself
’Til the moon is shining without relent
Then patters he off to the teapot event.

In the center he stands
Making the music of the lands
They sashay around him
And give a bow at the rim,
Singing with their throats
To his glorious notes.

Around and around the circle they dance
Swinging and dipping as if in a trance
Then up from the sky comes the breaking of dawn
And they all scurry back across the lawn.
Up to the shelves they dance and float
Never making so much as a note.

The ’Night Elf is left in the grey morning light
To practice his songs ’til the next evening rite.
Away in his cave he sits with his fiddle
Wondering why strings are such a riddle.
The teapots that day will just sit and whistle
And remember their dance with a thrill and a tizzle.