They say the forest took them, on a night of heavy snow The children from the chapel choir, no one saw them go The lanterns burned till morning, the tracks were swept away And only wolves were howling where the voices used to play Now when the wind comes down the ridge You can hear them by the fallen bridge A dozen songs, so faint, so dire They call themselves the Hollow Choir Their mothers left out candles, their fathers cursed the sky The preacher said “the Lord will keep them,” but even he stopped by To nail a cross upon the gate where the treeline starts to climb But every year it rots away before the wintertime Now when the wind comes down the ridge You can hear them by the fallen bridge A dozen songs, so faint, so dire They call themselves the Hollow Choir Sing us home, the woods are wide Lay us down where the cold can hide Hands in the roots and eyes in the fire Sleep, sleep, little choir Some nights the wolves fall silent, and the trees all seem to lean As if they bend to listen to a song no one has seen And if you walk there after dark, keep your fire small and low For voices love the careless heart that doesn’t want to know Now when the wind comes down the ridge You can hear them by the fallen bridge A dozen songs, so faint, so dire They call themselves the Hollow Choir
