A shooting star flew from afar
To Tacker still alight,
As if a beacon called it there
To pick a fiery fight.

But it was not for any war
The two of them now met,
The star fell down from distant lore
To pay a happy debt.

The stars saw Tacker open doors
That something cold had closed,
So they brought him to join and soar
The heights above the crows.

The town of Crumble carried on
In twists of purple clay,
As bees pulled life from the beyond
And Tacker looked away.