Sounds

I hear the sound
     from the Rushy Mountains,
     the wild and sweet Rushy Mountains.

I hear the sound
     from the stoney Burren,
     the wild and lonesome stoney Burren.

I hear the sound
     from Gweedore's green glen,
     the wild fierce green glen of Gweedore.

The sound of a hearth fire
     I've never sat beside,
     snap of a peat fire
     and the tramp of feet

     minding the dresser,

     whiskey fueled
     and music driven -

     One day
I will go where my fathers before
trod the land, tilled the land,
were killed by the land -
One day I will go home.