Beneath the twilight’s tender gaze,
Where emerald fields in shadows lay,
The winds of Eire softly raise,
A requiem for the end of day.

In quiet pubs where tales are spun,
The spirits speak of lives long gone,
Each soul a thread that’s finely spun,
In death’s embrace, they carry on.

The rivers hum a mournful tune,
As stars align in darkened skies,
The ancient stones, they hold the rune,
Of whispered prayers and silent cries.

So let the piper play his song,
Beneath the hills of emerald pride,
For in this land where hearts belong,
The Irish soul in death abides.