The caverns at the shoreline are lit by a bonfire’s light,
And the wind begins to pick up the distant sound of a violin.

The waves can be heard breaking deep within rocky chambers,
A girl twirls with curls of red, and lays her chin upon a small fiddle.
Her adoring eyes look over the strings as she draws the bow to make them sing.

The oceans tide speaks of a great distance,
And yet her song lulls me towards some distant shore,
To a time that I have forgotten, in a place that doesn’t age.

She gives call to dance around the fire, as pagan ancients,
Apart of nature, celebrating the new moon.
The birds of night roost nearby,
And upon the wind somewhere is the memory of girl I once knew.

Softly slipping between a dream,
Let my mind be carried by nightingale wing,
To find the source of this haunting reel
And dance beside the fire with the girl with red curls,
In a time that I have forgotten, in a place that doesn’t age.

And if I should never return from the enchantment of her strings,
Let my soul remain amongst the ocean fog
that rolls in through the early morning.