We are good people
We mean nobody harm
Beyond your cities
In bog lands and in farms
Close together
We love our place
We are strong
We face what we must face
I hear my fathers voice across the breeze
Watch my children work all summer long
I see the turf smoke rising
From the chimney tops
Carrying our stories and songs
I hear my mother calling
The evenings closing in
Winter will be warm
When all the turf is stored
And come next springtime
Well be bound for bog once
More
I hear my fathers
Voice
As my father did
So will I do
To the dream he lived by
Ill be true
For the skylark and the blackbird
Know me well
And this place without people
Has no tale to tell
I hear my fathers voice across the breeze
