If you ever go across the sea to Ireland
Then maybe at the closing of your day
You can sit and watch the moon rise over Caddagh
And see the Sun go down on Galway Bay.
JUst to hear again the ripple of the trout stream
The women in the meadow making hay
Just to sit beside the turf fire in a cabin
And watch the barefoot gosoons as they play.
For the breezes blowing o'er the sea's from Ireland
Are perfumed by the heather as the blow
And the women in the uplands digging praties
Sepak a language that the strangers do not know.
Yet the strangers came and tried to teach us their ways
And they scorned us just for being what we are
But they might as well go chasing after moon beams
Or light a penny ...
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