Luke Kelly - The unquiet grave

The ^GWind doth ^Cblow to^Dday my ^Glove, A ^Cfew small ^Gdrops the ^Drain. ^GNever have I ^Dhad but ^Gone true ^Clove, In ^Gcold clay ^Dshe is ^Glain.

I'll ^Gdo as ^Cmuch for ^Dmy true ^Glove, As ^Cany young ^Gman ^Dmay. I'll ^Gsit and ^Dmourn all ^Gon her ^Cgrave, A ^Gtwelve month ^Dand a ^Gday.

The ^Gtwelve month ^Cand a ^Dday been ^Ggone, A ^Cvoice spoke ^Gfrom the ^Ddeep. "Who ^Gis it ^Dsits all ^Gon my ^Cgrave. And ^Gwill not ^Dlet me ^Gsleep?"

Tis ^GI Tis ^CI thine ^Down true ^Glove, Who ^Csits u^Gpon your ^Dgrave, For I ^Gcrave one ^Dkiss from ^Gyour sweet ^Clips, And ^Gthat is ^Dall I ^Gseek.

"You ^Gcrave one ^Ckiss from my ^Dclay cold ^Glips, But ^Cmy breath is ^Gearthy ^Dstrong. ^GHad you one ^Dkiss from my clay ^Gcold ^Clips, You're ^Gtime would ^Dnot be ^Glong"

My ^Gtime be ^Clong, my ^Dtime be ^Gshort, To^Cmorrow ^Gor to^Dday, ^GMay God in ^Dheaven have ^Gall my ^Csoul But I'll ^Gkiss your ^Dlips of ^Gclay.

See ^Gdown in ^Cyonder ^Dgarden ^Ggreen. ^CLove where we ^Gused to ^Dwalk. The ^Gsweetest ^Dflower that ^Gever ^Cgrew. Is ^Gwithered ^Dto the ^Gstalk.

The ^Gstalk is ^Cwithered ^Ddry my ^Glove ^CSo will our ^Ghearts de^Dcay. So ^Gmake your^Dself con^Gtent, my ^Clove, 'Till ^Gdeath calls ^Dyou a^Gway."