Aisling (Christy Moore version)
By Shane MacGowan, as sung by Christy Moore

See the bright new moon is rising
Above the land of black and green
Hear the rebels voice is calling
I will not die though you bury me

The aunt upstairs in the bed she is calling
Why has he forsaken me
Faded pictures in the hallway
Which one of them brown ghosts is he

Bless the wind that shakes the barley
Curse the spade and curse the plough
I've counted years and weeks and days
And I wish to God I was with you know

Fair thee well my black haired diamond
Fair thee well my own Aisling
At night fond dreams of you still hunt me
Fair across the grey north see

And the wind it blows
From the North and South
to the East
And to the West
I will be like the wind my love
For I will know no rest
Until I return to thee

1, 2, 3 telegraph poles
Standing on the cold black road
The night is fading into morning
Give us a drop of your sweet potein

The rain was lashing
The sun was rising
The wind was howling through the trees
The madness from the mountains crawling
When I saw you first my own Aisling

Bless the wind that shakes the barley
Curse the spade and curse the plough
I've counted years and weeks and days
And I wish to God I was with you know

Fair thee well my black haired diamond
Fair thee well my own Aisling
At night fond dreams of you still hunt me
Fair across the grey north see