Waiting for the snowdrops now
Yes, the flower, not the storm
The gloaming over the highest bough
Is not as dark as you
Mo chuísle, mo chroí, cronaím thú
Oh, and might she be the one to unbind my soul
Don’t wish on the bones of the holy
Can you hear the footsteps on the ground?
To me, these relics are lonely
Can you hear her keening sound?
Mo chuísle, mo chroí, cronaím thú
Oh, and might she be the one to unbind my soul
She saw the orange on solstice hill
Heard the banshees wail and hum
Brought the plow to the field to till
Oh, the Ballyfinboy river’s in my blood
Mo chuísle, mo chroí, cronaím thú
Oh, and might she be the one to unbind my soul
Mo chuísle, mo chroí, cronaím thú
Oh, and might she be the one to unbind my soul
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