1.Spancil Hill
Lyricist：J. Marks
Last night as I lay dreaming of pleasant days gone by
My mind being bent on rambling to Ireland I did fly
I stepped on board a vision and I followed with a will
At last I came to anchor at the cross at Spancil Hill
Hey hey, yippee-yi-yay, yippee-yi-yoh
A ghost rider's in the sky
It being on the twenty-third of June the day before the fair
All Ireland's sons and daughters in crowds assembled there
The young, the old, the brave, the bold, their duties to fulfill
There was pleasant conversation at the cross at Spancil Hill
Hey hey, yippee-yi-yay, yippee-yi-yoh
A ghost rider's in the sky
I went to see my neighbors to see what they might say
The old ones were all dead and gone, the young ones turning gray
I met old Tailor Quigley, he's as bold as ever still
He used to mend my britches when I lived at Spancil Hill
Hey hey, yippee-yi-yay, yippee-yi-yoh
A ghost rider's in the sky
I paid a flying visit to my first and only love
She's as young as any lily and as gentle as a dove
She threw her arms around me saying, 'Johnny I love you still'
She's was the farmer's daughter the pride of Spancil Hill
Hey hey, yippee-yi-yay, yippee-yi-yoh
A ghost rider's in the sky
I asked her would she marry me as in the days of yore
She said, 'Johnny, you're only joking, as many a time before'
The cock he crew in the morning, he crew both loud and shrill
I awoke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill
Hey hey, yippee-yi-yay, yippee-yi-yoh
A ghost rider's in the sky
Yippee-yi-yay, yippee-yi-yoh
A ghost rider's in the sky
2.Comrades In The Dark
Lyricist：A. Stillman, R. Allen
Came a splendid golden sun
Across the darkened sky
Woke the bondsman from his dream
As it fell upon his eyes
Lit the ways of freedom's path
Sent forth the singing lark
Bore a weeping blossom upon
Those flowers in the dark
Bloomed by country lane and town
In freedom's fragrant scent
Giving heart to a weary folk
When a dark days came and went
Grew they strong and beautiful
Midst fortune cold and stark
Fairest flowers of their kind
Roses in the dark
Winds of war came sweeping cruel
But the blossom would not cry
How it broke freeman's heart
To see the first rose die
Soldiers plucked the garden's joy
And left a burning mark
Upon the silver petalled bloom
Those flowers in the dark
Flowers weep in dank cold cells
No sun to light their gloom
Suffer torture's vilest scorn
Wither in their bloom
There they yield these lovely things
Oh, hear the freedom's mark
They are the light to guide the poor
These flowers in the dark
Care not should we freemen die
Just to see the garden flower
Humble bluebell lifts its head
Rise in all its power
Hold a tear, torn sore in heart
'Twere a Joan of Arc
Each one of these saintly flowers
Who be in dungeons dark
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