Christy Moore Follow

See the bright new moon is rising,
Above the land of black and green.
Hear the rebels voices calling,
I will not die 'till you bury me.

The aunt upstairs in the bed she is calling,
Why has he forsaken me.
Faded pictures in the hallway,
Which one of them brown ghosts is he?

Bless the wind that shakes the barley,
Curse the spade and curse the plough.
I've counted years and weeks and days,
And I wish to God I was with you now.

Fare thee well me black-haired diamond,
Fare thee well me own Aisling.
At night fond dreams of you still haunt me,
Far across the grey north sea.

And the wind it blows from the North and South,
To the East And to the West.
I will be like the wind my love,
For I will know no rest until I return to thee.

1, 2, 3, 4 telegraph poles,
Standing on the cold black road.
The night is fading into morning,
Give us a drop of your sweet poitín.

The rain was lashing - the sun was rising,
The wind was whipping through the trees.
The madness from the mountains crawling,
When I saw you first my own Aisling.

Bless the wind that shakes the barley,
Curse the spade and curse the plough.
I've counted years and weeks and days,
And I wish to God I was with you now.

Fare thee well my black haired diamond,
Fare thee well my own Aisling.
At night fond dreams of you still haunt me,
Far across the grey north sea.