When the day is at rest and the night comes upon her,
In the silence she waits, in the silence she sighs.
She was born on the wind and she follows it homewards
Where she cradles the lives of all those who have died.
At the last quiet hour she moves down through the vale
And she waits there for the morrow in her garden of graves.
In the shadow she stood as the earth crept and found her
And the words that she heard brought tears to her eyes.
As the last light had failed and the mist swirled around her,
She will wait until dawn underneath darkened skies.
At the last quiet hour she moves down through the vale
And she waits there for the morrow
At the last quiet hour she moves down through the vale
And she waits there for the morrow
in her garden of graves.