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Gather round, you merry kin,
While this cloud of quiet settles in,
Iβll pluck this tale from twilight's seam,
And spin it gold from breath and dream.
Verse 1
She came from the Dalelands with silver-spun hair,
Ailbhe whose eyes held the frost of cold air,
she sang to the masses who hungered for song,
and poured her soul out to the faceless, the throng...
Chorus Ailbhe whose eyes held the frost of cold air,
she sang to the masses who hungered for song,
and poured her soul out to the faceless, the throng...
Each note was a fragment of all she once knew,
each chorus a color that slowly withdrew,
they loved her, they praised her, they begged her for more,
but they never asked who she was singing for...
Verse 2 each chorus a color that slowly withdrew,
they loved her, they praised her, they begged her for more,
but they never asked who she was singing for...
Now silver eyes stare where a spirit once burned,
The Dales all forgotten, deserted, and bare,
Ailbhe still sings, but her song is a lie,
a beautiful hollow beneath empty skies...
The Dales all forgotten, deserted, and bare,
Ailbhe still sings, but her song is a lie,
a beautiful hollow beneath empty skies...
And thatβs the legend, or so itβs told,
Passed down from the minstrels of old,
Singin' and strummin' on simple strings,
Set loose on silver tongues and wings.


