old melody that i tried to learn when i gave myself over to it learned every step and my efforts were met when it rang and it told and it sang prattle on strings familiar rings if the line is a chain past today then each fiddler that played is another that stayed to turn himself into the link and he s still up here somewhere i think and i hear the old voices singing this song will never end it was here long ago and continues to grow in the fields of progeny in the fields of progeny where is the culture you ask i don t know and when is the future you ask i don t know is it locked in the ice is it under the frost i can hardly hear the heart beating but it s under the snow i suppose and where is the history and where is the memory where is the language that i used to know is it locked in the ice is it under the frost i can hardly hear the heart beating but it s under the snow i suppose and i hear the old voices singing this song will never end it was here long ago and continues to grow in the fields of progeny in the fields of progeny