cruel harsh canyon of dreaming waits
view across the steeple chase
minds own winding road of hate
these memories so warm and chaste
heavy lull of well worn years
chosen path of salt and tears
melodies not played for fears
that natures beast would rise
so gallant came the wind and rain
beating, thrashing out thy name
this garment from my dew lost frame
goes dancing in the heather
if i were ghost not man nor foe
the dancing breath of you would know
i am the singer of the low
the festive mountain frame
go now into the dead of night
amongst the forest soft and light
amongst the dead forgotten frame
of a melody without a name
