Come all you bards, all you singers of legend
Tellers of tales and of stories so bold
I've a song I would sing you 
Of the Ghost of the Shetlands
Of a woman of beauty and the treasure she holds

She was born youngest daughter 
To the King of the Gypsies
In a time long since past us, a world long grown cold
It was then that the old kings 
Sailed the world in their great ships
Good steel more valued than silver or gold

The King was a hard man, driven by anger
With a heart hard as iron, and blacker than coal
And he gave great offense to the Trow of the Shetlands
And so in their anger, his daughter they stole

Now the King's men went searching all over the islands
They found not a trace of his daughter so fair
And the King in disgrace was returned to his castle
Where he died in his anguish and darkest despair

Now the Trow raised her gently; they called her Silaina
They gave her a voice that was lighter than air
And her hair grew like gold silk, spun out in fire
And they taught her their music and stories so rare

Alas, no human child may live on forever
There came then a day when old Death called her on
But the Trow in their grieving bound up her spirit
With spells and with wardings and stories and songs

Now if you should go riding at night in the Shetlands
You might find a tree all alone by the shore
And you might hear a music that calls to you gently
And into the Trowlands your spirit will soar

To a world loud as thunder, as blinding as lightning
As cold as the granite in these hard castle floors
Just a heartbeat away 
From the death mask so frightening
Put your hand out to greet her 
And the whole world is yours

For she's the Ghost of the Shetlands
Her eyes darkest sable
She'll tell you the stories first heard long ago
Of the spirits that play in the night, and the tales
Of heroes and legends from a time long ago