The years creeps up on me I'm almost three score
And I live many miles from the road to Rathmore
The road to Sliabh Luachra of cultural renown
Towards the Cork-Kerry border out of Millstreet Town.
My memories are fading of what used to be
Though in my flights of fancy the gray fog I see
Creeping across old Clara and enshrouding him in the drizzling rain
Some times the past it returns for to visit again.
The memories are fading or so it does seem
But by the road to Rathmore in the babbling stream
The song of the dipper I fancy I hear
Amongst the rush of the rapids it rings loud and clear.
Though the road to Rathmore it is far north of here
And I have not walked on it for many a year
And nothing in life ever does seem to last
I still retain some good memories of the past.
And I live many miles from the road to Rathmore
The road to Sliabh Luachra of cultural renown
Towards the Cork-Kerry border out of Millstreet Town.
My memories are fading of what used to be
Though in my flights of fancy the gray fog I see
Creeping across old Clara and enshrouding him in the drizzling rain
Some times the past it returns for to visit again.
The memories are fading or so it does seem
But by the road to Rathmore in the babbling stream
The song of the dipper I fancy I hear
Amongst the rush of the rapids it rings loud and clear.
Though the road to Rathmore it is far north of here
And I have not walked on it for many a year
And nothing in life ever does seem to last
I still retain some good memories of the past.