Amidst the foreign fields
An endless grey slowly reveals
Tales of former lives
Are woven tightly across the pines

They hum softly to the night
Leave no trace, fade in and out of sight
From embers smoke transpires
To lead the travellers from the fire

To Innisfree land, cabin on a hill
Our Grandfather made so long ago
A certain peace there
The kind that comes at night
The kind that comes like smoke