Lady of the Granite Path

Where the grey mist seem to flourish
and the tombstones droop in shame
she walks in a gown of satin
she sometimes calls his name

Once upon a time kisses sweet as honey
they shared along the Avon shore
betrohed to wed beore the Ides of March
their lifes as one forever more

But the bagpipes and Thompson drum
called the highland men to arm
aye, and although he loved her dearly
the battle cry also had its charm

The legend goes that he met his fate
on the battlefield of Caladone
his dying breathe bespoke her name
that day he died there all alone

Now she walks no more the heather
nor the thistles on the moor
she prefers the fog draped granite path
where he now sleeps forever more...