All your Life

What happens when you write a song,
Is all your life comes flooding back,
All the life you forgot,
All the life you’d like to gather up,
All your life that fell on the floor,
All your life.

What happens when you sing that song,
Is all your life comes out your mouth,
And whoever is around,
Will know you better,
Even if it’s just you.

Oh, Ireland

A distant place that I oft fail to see,
has been erased from my memory.

She’s clothed in green, unlike any that I’ve seen,
and from the ground pours the emery.

Satin skies give way to an auburn guise,
and I’m left spinning in a field.

Birds of blue sing not a note out of tune,
and all my wounds have quickly healed.

‘Tis the land where my great grandfather
Walked hand in hand with my great grandmother.
‘Tis the land I’d like to call home.

‘Tis the land where my great grandfather
Walked hand in hand with my great grandmother.
‘Tis the land I’d like to call home.

Oh, Ireland take me home to thee,
Oh, Ireland.

Oh, Ireland take me home to thee,
Oh, Ireland.