The moon holds the light
|
And the moon's this spinning globe
|
Shedding light upon the road
|
The bird won't fly
|
And a bird without its wings is a low and tragic thing
|
|
We are ghosts
|
We are ghosts amongst these hills
|
From the trees around and green
|
To the ground beneath our feet
|
We are ghosts
|
We are ghosts amongst these hills
|
Pressing out along the shore
|
Pressing out along the shore
|
|
The mountain song
|
Matters not the thoughts of thirds
|
Matters only to be heard
|
And though I'm gone
|
I will come again in Spring
|
When the harvest can begin
|
|
We are ghosts
|
We are ghosts amongst these hills
|
From the trees of velvet green
|
To the ground beneath our feet
|
We are ghosts
|
We are ghosts amongst these hills
|
Pressing out along the shore
|
Pressing out along the shore
|
|
-----------------
|
Ghosts
|
| James Vincent Mcmorrow |
