A lonely voice sounds over the moor
On nights dark and cold
A birds cry its not, of that sure
For no bird would be so bold
At this God forsaken time
In this isolated place
Would have reason to climb
In the skys darkened face.
But the sound kept sounding
And it was a cry of pain
As if all belonging to her were gone
And only she did remain.
And those passing on the moor
Knew when they heard the cry,
It was the cry of the banshee
For someone who was going to die.
For the more you listned, it faded
And when you carried on
The sound returned, more lonesome until
From its range you were gone.
And that dying soul somewhere
Knew that if no one living for them did care
There was a banshee crying for their soul
Neath their window there.
So should you that lonely woman hear
Let fear not hold your heart
Better a prayer for they who she mourns say
As you on your way start.
God sent the banshee
To cry tears of mourning true
To compensate for all the false tears
Shed by mourners like me and you.
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