The Hosting of the Shee (Demo)

Scott-Yeats The host is riding from Knocknarea And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare Caoilte tossing his burning hair And Niamh calling: 'Away, come away' 'Away, come away, away, away'. The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are agleam Empty your heart of its mortal dream. The host is riding from Knocknarea And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare Caoilte tossing his burning hair And Niamh calling: 'Away, come away' 'Away, come away, away, away'. Our armsa-wave, our lips are apart And if anything gaze on our rushing band We come between him and the hope of his heart We come between him and the deed of his hand. The host is riding from Knocknarea And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare Caoilte tossing his burning hair And Niamh calling: 'Away, come away' 'Away, come away, away, away, away, away ...'.