On the hill where the black pines lean,
Where the dawn comes pale and slow,
They say a bride once wept all night
Where no white flowers grow

The night before her wedding day,
She wore her veil to sleep
But no sleep came to close her eyes,
No mercy came to keep

His horse returned without his voice,
With frost upon its mane
And all the bells that should have rung
Were swallowed by the rain

She did not scream, she did not curse,
She did not call the sky
She climbed the hill in wedding white
To teach the dark to cry

And under Lachryma,
The roots drank what she gave
Not water from the living earth,
But love without a grave

O bride beneath Lachryma,
Where did your morning go?
Your veil became the winter mist,
Your breath became the snow

O bride beneath Lachryma,
The vow was never said
So one white flower blooms for love
That could not wed the dead

The villagers kept far away,
They watched the candle die
They saw her kneel beneath the tree
With moonlight in her eyes

She held no ring, she held no blade,
No letter to her breast
Only the name she would have worn
If love had been blessed

By dawn her tears had disappeared,
The grass was cold and bright
And every branch that should have slept
Was burning soft with white

No priest could name the miracle,
No widow dared to speak
For spring had come in mourning clothes
And kissed her on the cheek

O bride beneath Lachryma,
Where did your morning go?
Your veil became the winter mist,
Your breath became the snow

O bride beneath Lachryma,
The vow was never said
So one white flower blooms for love
That could not wed the dead

Unfinished vow,
Unfinished vow,
Pinned in the hair,
Carried somehow

Unfinished vow,
Unfinished vow,
Love with no altar,
Bride with no now

Since then, before a wedding bell
Can wake the northern air
A single flower from that tree
Is braided in the hair

Not for joy, and not for doom,
Not blessing, not goodbye
But for the ones whose promised dawn
Was taken from the sky

The mothers touch it with their thumbs,
The daughters bow their heads
For every house has kept a chair
For someone never wed

And when the bride walks down the path,
The old ones softly say:
“Do not forget the love that lost
The right to have its day”

They call it not a grave
They call it not a shrine
They call it the Unfinished Vow,
A flower out of time

They say if you wear it proudly,
It withers in your hand
But if you wear it gently,
The dead will understand

Ah-ah, ah-ah...
Ah-ah, ah-ah...

O bride beneath Lachryma,
Where did your morning go?
Your veil became the winter mist,
Your breath became the snow

O bride beneath Lachryma,
The vow was never said
So one white flower blooms for love
That could not wed the dead

O bride beneath Lachryma,
Sleep where the branches lean
Your tears became the only spring
That winter ever seen

O bride beneath Lachryma,
No bell, no bed, no name
But every bride who wears your bloom
Still carries on your flame

One white flower,
One silent ring,
One unfinished vow
The tree still sings

One white flower,
Soft as bone,
No bride beneath Lachryma
Weeps alone