Magic Hour

In the magic hour, when the moon is low

And the sky's the kind of blue that you think you know

But you don't know

The Turfcutter's Donkey runs around

And all the fairy children, they run around

And all the other children, they make no sound

In that hour, if you're on the coast

And the waves nip at your heels like a dog

Pull me closer

It's past the time of the dinner bell

But before the shine of Orion's belt

The sky is still bluer than a bluebell

Oh when I go, won't you throw my bones to the fish

And weigh my body down with sticks and stones?

Bury me not in the old graveyard where all my friends are

Beneath the heather on the high hillside

Death is a lonely bride

In the magic hour, when the moonlight gleams

And the sky is the kind of gray that you've never seen

Till you've seen it

Run down to the Virgin Mary's bank

Where our mothers cried and our fathers drank

We're all just trying to see where the ship sank

In that hour, if you listen hard

You can hear my granddaddy singing far away

Like an evening star

Songs of an old Ireland, songs about being young again

I wish I was young again

Oh when I go, won't you throw my bones to the fish

And weigh my body down with sticks and stones?

Bury me not in the old graveyard where all my friends are

Beneath the heather on the high hillside

Death is a lonely bride