That dulcimer is already carrying the song by itself: bright, close, and walking the same small figure without any band around it.

Her voice comes in almost plainly, as if we're joining the conversation after the damage has already happened.

The images get very specific now: Canada, a face drawn twice, and then that first turn toward blood and holy wine, all over the same light plucked pattern.

The refrain doesn't get bigger underneath her; the dulcimer just keeps its clean motion while she sings the wild part calmly.

After that little breath of strings, the new verse opens as a self-portrait: lonely painter, box of paints, still held inside the same narrow sound.

When she remembers being told that love is touching souls, the singing stays intimate rather than emphatic; the line feels spoken into the pattern instead of lifted out of it.

This outside woman enters quietly, but the words sharpen the room: she knows the devils and deeds, and the dulcimer still doesn't harden around the warning.

The holy-wine phrase returns changed by that warning; the sound is still gentle, but now the sweetness has a price sitting inside it.

On this last refrain, her voice reaches up once and then loosens, as if the song can stay standing only by staying this exposed.

The ending doesn't cut away; the dulcimer keeps walking after the final tag, then the pattern simply lets go into the room.