The Glen
The
dawn is near,
I've traveled far,
I counted every shining
star,
In the sky...
From the glen.
Over the hill,
The
sun does come;
It shines upon,
Me as I run,
Far
away...
From this place,
Down in the glen.
Across the moor,
The wind does blow;
It hits my face,
Cold as snow,
In
the valley,
Deep in winter,
In the glen.
My heart has
room,
For one more love,
Grey as a stone,
White as a
dove,
With those eyes,
Those deep green eyes,
Like the
glen.
I've lived my life,
So long and full,
But now I
feel,
Death's cold pull,
Coming from,
That cruel, cruel
place,
Called the glen.
The battle's here,
With bloodshed
much,
Gleaming claws slash,
Just out of touch,
From my
pelt...
Black and silver,
From the glen.
I must stand for,
What I want,
Freedom yes,
And no more taunts,
Just
because...
I'm from,
From the glen.
My feeling's gone,
The
worst will come,
I look back,
To where I'm shunned,
In that
place...
That terrible place,
Near the glen.
I feel the
love,
Of those so dear,
Off of my heart,
It seems to
shear,
Those sad words...
That you said,
Down in the glen.
The end is near,
As evening comes,
I stand up straight,
I mean no fun,
To the end...
I will fight,
Down in the
glen.
The glen's the place,
Where I was born,
A rugged
figure; I was shorn,
In a grove...
In a place,
Called the
glen.
The figure lay,
In moonlight still;
It died right
there,
Where it fell,
On the ground...
Deep in battle,
In
the glen.