Every Night

I watched the long processions go
Wildly by through rain or gale
Every night all year they faintly show
Shadows of forms with faces pale.

And every night she wakes.
Sleepless stirrings, she knows they're there.
She hears their silent footfalls sound
They know she waits there, under the ground
Oh, every night she wakes.

With robes and dresses floating long
Whipped by the timeless twilight wind
A beautiful dance with no foot wrong
But lethal to those who follow behind.

And every night she sings.
Laments a tune into the night.
No-one will come, they fear the sound,
They know she lives there, under the ground.
Oh, every night she sings.

Their ethereal train goes on to the wood
Through the dark and places wild
I saw them clear from where I stood
Ever real now as when I was a child.

And every night she cries,
Hands held out to the dark.
Who will hold her, tight and sound?
They know she waits there, under the ground.
Oh, every night she cries.

We cannot speak their name with our
Tongues so mortal; we would offend.
We dare not help her at twilights’ hour,
T'is not their will our aid to lend.

And so every night she despairs,
Longs to follow them as once she did
When her footfalls, too, made silent sound.
They leave her waiting there, under the ground,
Oh, every night she despairs.