| In my dreams I know that I can fly
|
| But like the small birds and the free birds
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| I can fly just like the birds on high
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| To the freedom of the sky
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| I can soar across the heavens
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| How easy now it seems
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| Like the birds I will have no cares or sorrows
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| I the shadow, the shadows of my dreams
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| Ireland my Ireland
|
| It seems to me that all the leaves
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| Are sighing in the breeze
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| Ireland I cry for my lan-ah
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| And it seems to me that all the leaves are gone
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| As I wonder through my lonely land
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| My heart is full of pain
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| For our people have no freedom
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| Their imporvirished and enchained
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| I see them fight and struggle
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| Against the stormy hearts of men
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| A language struggle with the people
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| And by hunger all are slane
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| Ireland my Ireland
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| Banashed to a land beyond the sea
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| I see a rich a rich and fertile land
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| I feel the spirit of a nation
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| A maiden weeps she weeps upon the harp
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| I see tumbling towns and towers
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| I a land of beauty and of splendour
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| From the mountains to the seas
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| But the wild flowers drown in sorrow
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| In this valley, this valley filled with tears
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| Ireland my Ireland
|
| It seems to me that all the leaves
|
| Are sighing in the breeze
|
| Ireland I cry for my lan-ah
|
| And it seems to me that all the leaves are gone
|
| So I fly across this lonely land
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| I see golden fields of corn
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| I see a land thats filled with plenty
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| Yet the people starve and die
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| Young Ireland now is silienced
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| And are banashed far away
|
| The lion preys upon the people
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| And devoures them night and day |