Blackthorn

So many men think that I am theirs

When I sit with them, when I drink with them

Nothing compares to all that was shared

Between you and I, between you and I

Snow falls on the mountain of Sliabh Uí Fhloinn

And my love is like sloe-blossom on the blackthorn

So many men reach for the highest branch

To find the bitter fruit, to find the bitter fruit

When close within reach of the hand lies the sweetest berry

On the lowest branch, on the lowest branch

Snow falls on the mountain of Sliabh Uí Fhloinn

And my love is like sloe-blossom on the blackthorn

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