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.