The gods speak to us in mysterious ways. What purpose could there be, you might ask, of pretty girls dancing barefoot in the moonlight?

Golden sunlight, golden girls
Golden smiles and golden curls
Dancing in the meadow green
Flowers slowly swaying
To the rhythm of the dance
Joining in the sweet romance
Of the gently flowing scene
Heads bowed in silence praying
The sun sets low on golden curls
Yet still they dance, the golden girls
As moonrise glistens through the trees
The flowers nod in sudden breeze
The day is done, the moon will rise
A golden disk to dazzle eyes
No more the golden girls are seen
No more the meaning weighing
The meadow, quiet in the dark
No more the sound of meadowlark
And still we know not what they mean
The songs the gods were playing