Helen McCrory - The Unquiet Grave | Текст песни

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• Helen McCrory
• The Unquiet Grave

My breast it is as cold as clay,
My breath is earthly strong;
And if you kiss my cold clay lips
Your days they won't be long.

O down in yonder grave, sweetheart,
Where we were want to walk;
The first flower that ever I saw
Is withered to a stalk.

When shall we meet again, sweetheart,
When shall we meet again ?
When the oaken leaves that fall from the trees
Are green and spring up again.

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