Aisling - Christy Moore

See the bright new moon is rising

Above the land of black and green

Hear the rebels voices calling

I will not die 'till you bury me

The aunt upstairs in the bed she is calling

Why has he forsaken me

Faded pictures in the hallway

Which one of them brown ghosts is he

Bless the wind that shakes the barley

Curse the spade and curse the plough

I’ve counted years and weeks and days

And I wish to God I was with you now

Fare thee well me black-haired diamond

Fare thee well me own Aisling

At night fond dreams of you still haunt me

Far across the grey north sea

And the wind it blows from the North and South

To the East And to the West

I will be like the wind my love

For I will know no rest 'till I return to thee

1, 2, 3 telegraph poles

Standing on the cold black road

The night is fading into morning

Give us a drop of your sweet poit’n

The rain was lashing — the sun was rising

The wind was howling through the trees

The madness from the mountains crawling

When I saw you first my own Aisling

Bless the wind that shakes the barley

Curse the spade and curse the plough

I’ve counted years and weeks and days

And I wish to God I was with you now

Fare thee well my black haired diamond

Fare thee well my own Aisling

At night fond dreams of you still haunt me

Far across the grey north sea