Текст песни The Old Measure - Daniel Martin Moore

As sigh comes finally
At the end of a regret
Some things are just impossible
To forget

My affections and reflections
The many irons in a lasting burn
And each stracts its due
In its own turn

Our small measure, the old measure
Our muscle our mettle our nerve
May temper but can't change
What we deserve

I have read by my own dim light
And of these matters at hand
I recount to you
What trusth I can

Our small measure, the old measure
Our muscle our mettle our our nerve
May temper but can't change
My temper but can't change
What we deserve