Irish Rose (aka: Grey Soul)

Silence grows, soft wind is whispering, silence falls and rose is fleeing.

Fleeing the cold, fleeing the violence, rose is dying slow.

Silence haunts the dreary halls, sweeping through the shadow's grave,

falling farther than the winter, sweet sleepy rose.

Chill the air, hang the cross, let your weary head down, down.

Sleep my heart, cold and linger, flee the shadows rose.

Sweet are memories, long dead on the snow. Dying kiss for a dying

rose. Ireland's lover, rose falls silent, let your red heart bleed.

Soft and gentle, winds may call her, harsh and violent the Devil's hand.

Rose has no where to lie her head down, rose shall die alone.

Silence grows, soft winds whisper, silence falls, rose is fleeing.

Flee the moon, flee the cold, die Irish rose upon the snow.