[Prelude]
[Narration: Orson Welles]
Shadows of shadows passing
It is now 1831, and as always, I am absorbed with a delicate thought
It is how poetry has indefinite sensations, to which end music is an essential
Since the comprehension of sweet sound is our most indefinite conception
Music, when combined with a pleasurable idea, is poetry
Music, without the idea, is simply music
Without music, or an intriguing idea, color becomes pallor;
Man becomes carcass;
Home becomes catacomb;
The dead, are but for a moment, motionless
[Instrumental]

[Arrival]
[Instrumental]

[Intermezzo]
[Instrumental]

[Pavane]
[Instrumental]

[Fall]
[Instrumental]