September 2020

The Tall Gates of Dartmoor (trad.)

I walk through the tall gates of Dartmoor today
After twenty-one years my hair is turning grey
But Lord how I pity the ones who must dwell
For the rest of their lives in the cold chains of hell.

For days without number and nights without end
I prayed I might one see my true-love again
Her memory has kept me from losing my mind
Within those four grey walls where the sun never shines.

Now broken and weary I step from the train
My cap in my hand and my head it’s bowed in shame
For Lord how I pity the ones who must dwell
For the rest of their lives in the cold chains of hell.

I wander this earth as a lonely old man
Never finding escape from the thing that I am
For time is my prison this world is my cell
After twenty-one years in the cold chains of hell