When the corn shines blue in the cold moonlight
and the wind whistles low over yonder hills;
then I walk alone down the winding lane
around all is quite, silent and still
I turn my face to the moon and clouds
as the wind streaks my hair from the side of a field
and I smell and I feel the sounds of the night
then like the Sun, to the night I yield
As dark shapes scurry and branches creek,
Owls hoot soft and stare down at me -
A passing intruder from the daylight world
Yet no stranger than the night, abroad and free
When the minds of men are dead and asleep
As the light wink out and darkness reigns
Then I rise from my tomb, where I've lain the day
and my ghost's stalks back to where my heart remains
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