Turning my marrow to a wight's
Calling, calling.
Clad in green and grey
Whilst I live she will not stay
Her prophetic wailing, wailing.
A doom is layed upon me,
A doom I cannot shake,
Would that a fierce heart beating
Her malice would slake.
A half-moon is sailing, sailing.
Ah! What cry pierces the night,
I am falling, falling!
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