Thus do numbers lose their souls
Tied to tips on killing moles
Numbers bright and all resplendent
Elevating and transcendent
Now brought low and all quotidian
Dark and hard, like wet obsidian
Save the Spinner, is my prayer,
Make it bright for poor Rapaire
Let it brightly for him ring,
Not some ordinary thing,
SOmething special and contrarian
For our most esteemed librarian.

Higell Deeeh Gilltier
Song from the Market