The Flower I Flung into Her Grave

There's a blaze upon the bog

On sphagnum mattresses we lie

Through the dewy dusk we'd roam

Where the outlands was our own

We were the catchers of the spark

Blacklisted lovers in the dark

And that swan, a soul in flight

Those dark wings cutting through the night

We grew up the special cases

We got our love of open spaces

From our days upon the bog

And when the arrows went to mass on Sunday morn'

We let a sorrow settle on the world

Like the early morning fog

Back then when love was just a game

The young Kilbride and Hester Swain

The blood bouquet, the peat perfume

The wind, it howled, a savage loon

That would stab you in the face

Disappear a sibling without trace

A wild-to-be barefooted bride

Her misplaced sense of social pride

We grew up the special cases

We got our love of open spaces

From our days upon the bog

And when the arrows went to class on Monday morn'

We'd dance like sparrows balanced on the corn

In the early morning fog

The congregation, they were crazy

To ever think you'd have a price

And you, attracted to the fight

For a traveller place is never easy

But when you're raised upon a blade

The comfort keeps you up at night

This bruised brown bog's where you belong

It's where you heard your mother's song

A cursed chord stemmed to her navel

The flower I flung into her grave

We grew up the special cases

We got our love of open spaces

From our days upon the bog

And when the arrows went to mass on Sunday morn

We let a sorrow settle on the world

Like the early morning fog

We grew up the special cases

We got our love of ancient places

From our days upon the bog

And when the arrows went to class on Monday morn

We'd dance the sparrows balanced on the gorse

In the early morning fog