A musician sits on the bank of the Bloomsday Town river, singing couplets and plucking a tune.

Well, I’m of the faction
That’s rarin’ for _____
And roam’s what I do
When I’m feeling _____
I can’t help but yearn
Where the home fires _____
So I’m dousing those lamps;
I’ll be staying in _____
And I’m packing, I’ll note,
A warm tent and _____
And a sleeping mat rolled
’Cause the nights do get _____
I’m prepared, with my bag,
For the Fates: that old _____
And her sisters who’re weaving
The trail I’ll be _____
Behind. I won’t quit;
My road may be _____
By the sun, or unseen
In the dark; what I _____
Is, I’m hardship-immune:
If a lone shriveled _____
Is my meal, I won’t blanch,
I’ll just picture the _____
And its herds; if it’s drink
That I lack, I will _____
Of when I’ll quench my thirst
Over onions and _____

Extra notes from before?
Let me pluck them once more.
With the right book to aid
We shall see what I’ve played.