Siobahn

A crescent moon at Winter, I know why I’m loved, but always be a sinner, surrounded by icy streets, I turn my face towards, the freezing gentle sea, if the cold light kills us, my time is one of trouble a life with different runners, are they out of reach, Our Lady holds a dove, no matter what I preach, by the dun lit rills, my shadow like a moth, I climb toward the hills, a Catholic flame and keeper, my Da stands good enough, but cannot get the reason, why I act so tough.