Sparkatale

Down in the moors where the green hills roll,
where the valleys are deep and the wind is cold
Between the leafless hands of reaching death and the unseen sands of the gone past
Out of reach of the whispering winds,
snug down in the earth tight asleep

But I worry not and I cry no more,
for the rolling hills are yours to play
Under the trees who guard your death
Down with the rabbits who breed

I'll remember you babe
I'll forget you not
Stay close to me
I'll visit
farewell
goodbye
sleep tight for now
Under your trees I'll visit.