Over Irish hills the winds chase dreams
and magic flows o’er the land of Erin
in silent tides to the moon’s pull again
and things can happen so real it seems
Let your true heart believe and you will know
of all the things that can, and will, be so real
that they leave memories etched in a soul’s seal
and you carry them from day to day, again to sow
Listen to the sigh of the night winds soft
and of the tales they do tell of things past
things you hold inside that came and went so fast
and each did your spirit set its hold and loft
The news was brought
the war was fought
the master of the manner lost
for time evermore
the moon pulled the tides
smashing against the high cliffs
as the darkened skies carried
the sad refrain
emptiness and gloom surround
the glen the hounds cried out
their master downed again
the winds in anger
hurled insults buffeting
the castle walls and the old
stone once stood proud now
crumbled from the news
and the stars of the glen
stayed under a blanket of
black velvet not to shine again
the master of the glen silenced
as natured rebelled against the
injustice of the loss.
Listen to the heart sobs
from within the walls
the creaking of the decrepit
halls, the age of chivalry
now long dead and the hounds of hell
hung down their head.