There is no hair on your mother's head,
No spark left in her eyes.
She has no choice, she remains in bed
So, come over to me.
There are no teeth in your father's head,
His blood runs weak as this autumn's light.
His only wish is to see you wed,
So, come over to me.
Finally, finally, finally, come over to me.
Lichen spreads across your grandad's grave.
He will not see another star,
And far above they are cast like a net,
So, come over to me.
Roots that grip your ancestor's bones
Have their turn to live,
And they show us how to hold,
So, come over to me.
Finally, finally, finally, come over to me.
Finally, finally, finally, come over to me.