the snow is still here
trouble is the weather
we are all in pain

Upon these shores lie wrecks of then and gone,
When once an emperor ruled a land so rich.
The sea-hope of a nation under dawn
Beheld the continent of the western witch.
The sarsen of this land of gold was lost;
By tide, the blood-flagged vessels overturned.
Uneven marks from history's page were glossed,
And all the native flowerbeds were burned.

The hours are drawn and we afar will go
To cap the wanton willows by and by,
To eat and drink, and all that comes about,
That with a man there bays no evil eye.

That one in turn, with others for themselves,
Can hardly crest the stars as they may glow,
Can barely catch the rays of any beam,
Can scarcely fetch the moondust from the snow.

If left to me, I would not come there more,
When moon is red and shining on earth's green,
Unless at last the other suns must rout,
And fade away like me and not be seen.

Then both of us could touch the brink of fate,
And shout without a care the hour is late.

love,
I think we're both pretty into this stuff

love,
I think

The limpid river surprised the cat,
He buried his head in stiff bamboo shoots.
The sun was streaming in bright rises from west,
And the river swelled on him so.
But the wind blew and the breeze fell,
The current swept him off the ledge of cliffs.
He died under the leaves beside his tomb.
He died in the dark, under the mist that shivered,
     A lonely, lonely death.

Farewell to Benbecula!
Pennyland of the fords,
Dark island of my birth,
Dearly I hold
The days of old;
To you I'll never return.

The voice of our ancestors,
In their song of peace I hear—
I will go home from now on,
That day is near.

Farewell to Benbecula!
Pennyland of the fords,
Dark island of my birth,
Dearly I hold
The days of old;
To you I'll never return.

So goodbye,
And for the last time I'll stay
In these dark seas of ice.
I hold the hope of our last parting,
But no hope can ever reburn
What a sweet melody it was....

Farewell to Benbecula!
By river, by shore and by sand:
Pennyland of the fords,
Dark island of my birth,
Dearly I hold
The days of old;
To you I'll never return.