"So when the last and dreadful hour
This crumbling pageant shall devour,
The trumpet shall be heard on high,
The dead shall live, the living die,
And Music shall untune the sky."

Neal's recitation is a little distracted. He frowns. "I can't actually remember what that one is called."

Which, apparently, is weird for him. Neal gestures toward the kitchen. "Is that what you were doing before this place? Rebuilding, I mean. Coffee?"