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The moon holds the light And the moon's this spinning globe
Shedding light upon the road The bird won't fly
And a bird without its wings is a low and tragic thing
From the trees of velvet green To the ground beneath our feet
We are ghosts We are ghosts amongst these hills
Pressing out along the shore Pressing out along the shore
The mountain song Matters not the thoughts of thirds
Matters only to be heard And though I'm gone
I will come again in Spring When the harvest can begin
We are ghosts We are ghosts amongst these hills
From the trees of velvet green To the ground beneath our feet
We are ghosts We are ghosts amongst these hills
Pressing out along the shore Pressing out along the shore