The spirits of the meadow

In the quiet of the moorland where the heather whispers low There's a tale of lost traditions where the ancient rivers flow Not a story of old battles nor a love that's come and gone But of whispers in the evening when the summer's day is done Oh the spirits of the meadow they dance when twilight falls In the shadows of the mountains where the lonely raven calls They weave a song of sorrow for the things we've left behind In the heart of the green valley where the past and present bind In a cottage by the seaside where the waves caress the shore Lived an old man with his memories of a world that is no more He spoke of songs forgotten of a language lost in time And of the dancers in the moonlight who would move without a rhyme Oh the spirits of the meadow they dance when twilight falls In the shadows of the mountains where the lonely raven calls They weave a song of sorrow for the things we've left behind In the heart of the green valley where the past and present bind And the winds they carry stories of a land both wild and free Where the echoes of our ancestors still linger in the sea We've traded all our wisdom for the fleeting joys of gold But the spirits of the meadow they remember what we sold Oh the spirits of the meadow they dance when twilight falls In the shadows of the mountains where the lonely raven calls They weave a song of sorrow for the things we've left behind In the heart of the green valley where the past and present bind Oh the spirits of the meadow they dance when twilight falls In the shadows of the mountains where the lonely raven calls They weave a song of sorrow for the things we've left behind In the heart of the green valley where the past and present bind