| In the magic hour, when the moon is low
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| And the sky’s the kinda blue that you think you know
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| But you don’t know
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| Trickle is dark he runs around in
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| All the fairy children they run around and
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| All the other children they make no sound
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| In that hour, if you’re on the coast
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| And the waves nip at your heels like a dog
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| Pull me closer
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| It’s past the time of the dinner bell
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| Before the shine of Orion’s belt
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| The sky’s still bluer than a bluebell
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| Oh when I go, won’t you throw my bones to the fish
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| And weigh my body down with sticks and stones
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| Bury me now in the old graveyard where all my friends are
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| Beneath the heather on the high hillside
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| Death is a lonely bride
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| In the magic hour, when the moonlight gleams
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| And the sky’s the kind of gray that you’ve never seen
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| Till you’ve seen it
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| Run down to the Virgin Mary’s bank
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| Where our mothers cried and our drank
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| They all just tried to see just where this sank
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| In that hour, if you listen hard
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| You can hear my granddaddy singing far away
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| Like an evening star
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| Songs in an old island, songs bout being young again
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| I wish I was young again
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| Oh when I go, won’t you throw my bones to the fish
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| And weigh my body down with sticks and stones
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| Bury me now in the old graveyard where all my friends are
|
| Beneath the heather on the high hillside
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| Death is a lonely bride |