With the wings of sorrow, I have taken flight. Cloaked in the darkness like a thief in the night. I have watched the farmer planting in his field. And known that what he sows, is there for me to steal.
Always rock me, always rock me on the rocking chair of dreams. you embroider with silvery sugar and starch that shine on the skin-moon. thousands thousands pink butterflies are flying.
There was a lad was born in Kyle,. But whatna day o' whatna style,. I doubt it's hardly worth the while. To be sae nice wi' Robin.. . Chor. - Robin was a rovin' boy,.
I am a ramblin' Irishman. It's Ulster I was born in. And manys the happy hour I spent. On the banks of sweet Loch Erin. Ah but to live poor I could not endure.