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