May
Thursday 5 November 2009 photo 1/1
|
My father loved his country and sweeped from in 'is breast,
But I had one they died for her must never soul be blessed.
Most tears me mother shad for me, how'd bitter they had been,
But I had proved the traitor for the wearing of the green.
And if at last our coloured shirt be thorn from Ireland's heart,
Her sons would shame and sorrow for the dear old my wound heart.
I hear the whisper of the land that lies me on the sea,
Where rich and poor stand equal in the light of freedom's day.
Oh, Ireland, must believe you driven high from tyrant's hand,
And see come mother's blessing from the strange and distant land,
Where the cruel cross of england shall never more be seen,
And in that land we live and die still wearing Ireland's green
But I had one they died for her must never soul be blessed.
Most tears me mother shad for me, how'd bitter they had been,
But I had proved the traitor for the wearing of the green.
Her sons would shame and sorrow for the dear old my wound heart.
I hear the whisper of the land that lies me on the sea,
Where rich and poor stand equal in the light of freedom's day.
Oh, Ireland, must believe you driven high from tyrant's hand,
And see come mother's blessing from the strange and distant land,
Where the cruel cross of england shall never more be seen,
And in that land we live and die still wearing Ireland's green
2 comments on this photo
Directlink:
http://dayviews.com/whostolemybeer/422096729/
Visa toppen
Show footer