I am Stretched on Your Grave

That's a creepy title for a song, isn't it? The lyrics to this song are actually an Irish poem from the 1600s. This particular poem has intrigued many, many artists, and many versions of this song have been produced. My personal favorite is Abney Park's version, because it employs male and female vocalists to great effect.

Abney Park, for the uninformed few of my readers, is a Seattle-based band that plays 'world' music. By world, we mean lyrics inspired by the 1800s and the steampunk subculture set to the sounds of music from around the world. The band is "actually" the crew of the airship HMS Ophelia, and they perform in full steamwear. It's rollicking good fun.



I am Stretched on Your Grave

I am stretched on your grave
And I'll lie there forever
If your hands were in mine
I'd be sure we'd not sever
My apple tree, my brightness,
It's time we were together
For I smell of the Earth
And I'm worn by the weather.

When my family thinks
That I'm safely in my bed
From morn until night
I am stretched at your head
Calling out to the air
With tears both hot and wild
For the loss of a girl
I loved as a child.

Do you remember the night
The night when we were lost
In the shade of the blackthorn
And the chill of the frost?
Oh, and thanks be to Jesus
We did what was right
And your maidenhead still
Is your pillar of light.

I am stretched on your grave
And I'll lie there forever
If your hands were in mine
I'd be sure we'd not sever

Oh, the priests and the friars
They approach me in dread
For I love you still
My wife, and you're dead
I still will be your shelter
Through rain and through storm
And with you in your cold grave
I cannot sleep warm

So I am stretched on your grave
And I'll lie there forever
If your hands were in mine
I'd be sure we'd not sever
My apple tree, my brightness,
It's time we were together
For I smell of the Earth
And I'm worn by the weather.

So I am stretched on your grave
And I'll lie there forever
If your hands were in mine
I'd be sure we'd not sever