Fare Thee Well - An Irish Dirge

Sad war torn country rolling hills spattered with blood, lush green grass, to mud, brothers marching off to war, sons running off to their fate. Fair thee well she said, and kissed him upon the lips, return to me love, “Fair thee well my sweet Michael, Fair thee well, fair thee well now.” High upon the banks, is where she lost her lover, a hero’s ending, though no comfort does it bring, years ago, she mourns him still. Softly she sings there, as she lays upon his grave, softly she cries there, “Fair the well my sweet Michael, Fair thee well, fair thee well now.”