The moon holds the light
And the moon's this spinning globe
Shedding light upon the road
The bird won't fly
And a bird without its wings is a low and tragic thing
We are ghosts
We are ghosts amongst these hills
From the trees of velvet green
To the ground beneath our feet
We are ghosts
And the moon's this spinning globe
Shedding light upon the road
The bird won't fly
And a bird without its wings is a low and tragic thing
We are ghosts
We are ghosts amongst these hills
From the trees of velvet green
To the ground beneath our feet
We are ghosts