| In the eve of my spring
|
| I came upon a changeling
|
| Who settled as a clear blue stream
|
| Flowing like a fountain
|
| And I knew of not detail
|
| But its spell was unforseen
|
| And my roots, they aren’t growing
|
| And the water cool and clean
|
| So I consume her late
|
| And I knew at once the curse it would bring
|
| Night, sweet lord, sweet Azriel
|
| I cry and I wail
|
| These swan songs to thee
|
| So I wed myself an almsman
|
| A bloodletter, I lay swollen
|
| And on their deathbeds, cried anon
|
| Witch, what have you done?
|
| Once dangled, now gnarled
|
| It all leads to suspicion
|
| As I grow weak and wither
|
| It is you, my old bride who stays young
|
| Night, sweet lord, sweet Azriel
|
| I cry and I wail these swan songs to thee
|
| Night, sweet lord, sweet Azriel
|
| I cry and I wail
|
| These swan songs to thee
|
| So my days
|
| They pass with little change
|
| No crones, old bars decay
|
| Except the blindly and reap-song
|
| And no night too soon the dawn |