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The winter winds blow and chill rains fall
and down cross the way I hear the call,
come with me, come with me to visit the dead, come with
me to visit the dead.

Quiet down fall to the ground the snow of white blind
death, and the wings of the night do take flight and
the snow falls down on my head, my head, the snow falls
down on my head.

Pain it still does follow me, cross the fields and
roads towards home, and the ravens herald my arrival,
yes the ravens do herald, herald my arrival they do.

Where are the doves of peace from their blood our wars
now trace their timely ancestral march, their march,
their thriving timely ancestral march.