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If you ever go across the sea to Ireland, |
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Then maybe at the closing of your day, |
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You will sit and watch the moon rise over Claddagh |
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And see the sun go down on Galway Bay. |
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Just to hear again the ripple of the trout stream, |
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The women in the meadows making hay |
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And to sit beside a turf fire in a cabin |
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And watch the barefoot gosoons at their play. |
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For the strangers came |
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And tried to teach us their ways, |
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And scorned us just for being what we are |
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But they might as well be chasing after moonbeams |
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Or light a penny candle from a star |
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And if there's going to be a life hereafter, |
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And somehow I am sure there's going to be, |
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I will ask my God to let me make my heaven |
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In that dear land across the Irish Sea. |
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