Oi!
Rising ash, falling snow, she used to lie and adore ye
Winding long tails of woe, she used to lie and adore ye

Nightingale, ashen-pale, whistling tunes, yeah, the moon still adores ye
Now, now, you're so young and proud, but another name for that will be 'lonely'


Pick the lock, sweep the floor, leave without a sound
Just allow the empty space to heal


Oi!

Bound in chains with a thousand rains; no wonder the storm still adores ye

Hold me down or hold me now, screaming,