Текст песни
Before the milk curdled in the mother's breast
A shadow was cast from the cairn in the west
The druid bent low with a hand made of bone
And spoke of a queen who would walk all alone
"Kill her," they whispered, "or burn her with thorn
For a girl such as this makes the kings be reborn."
But the earth drank the blood of the lamb on the stone
And the seed of the sorrow was already sown
Oh, Deirdre, Deirdre, the red thread unwound
Your voice was a crack in the holy ground
They buried you standing to keep you inside
But the grave is a liar—the dead never died
They built her a cage of three walls and a door
Where the sun never reached the clay floor
She grew like a blade in the dark of the sheath
A wound in the making, a wolf in the teeth
And the hunter who came was not man but a fate
A bell that was ringing too early, too late
She looked through the slit where the ravens all stood
And tasted the salt of her own future blood
Oh, Deirdre, Deirdre, the red thread unwound
Your voice was a crack in the holy ground
They buried you standing to keep you inside
But the grave is a liar—the dead never died
Three men sailed north with the moon in their eyes
Three wolves swam behind them in disguise
Naoise, my harp string, my silver fish
You drank from the cup that was never my wish
The Red Branch sharpens a yellow-tooth lie
And the king who desires her will watch her die
They came back in chains wrapped in silk and in lies
With a bargain that burned through the whites of their eyes
She stood on the ramparts and counted the spears
One for her laughter, three for her tears
And the oath that was sworn on the sword and the hilt
Was written on water and paid for in guilt
She saw his head fall like a dark winter fruit
And the harp in her chest went forever mute
Oh, Deirdre, Deirdre, the red thread unwound
Your voice was a crack in the holy ground
They buried you standing to keep you inside
But the grave is a liar—the dead never died
They gave her a king with a hole in his chest
A hollow man wearing a crown of unrest
She sat by his fire for a year and a day
Her hands in her lap where the memory lay
And the night that the frost painted bone on the glass
She rose from the bed and she let herself pass
From the cliffs of the north, where the seabirds tear
She walked with her hair like a curse in the air
No body was found, no stone marks the place
Just a mouthful of ash and the wind on her face
No grave for the queen, no bell, no prayer
Just the thorn and the red mouth still growing there
Deirdre
Still growing there
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