Of the ties of parochialism I will never be free
A Claraghatlea man is all I'll ever be
Old Clara from me in distance far away
But in fancy I climb to the steel cross today
And in fancy I walk in the old fields again
And I hear the birds sing in the wind and the rain
The savage as is said loves his native shore
And I miss those old high fields of green Claramore
Good memories of what was we like to retain
And in the heart of the migrant nostalgia remain
The years have left me looking balder and gray
And I may feel like a stranger in Claraghatlea today
Many highways and byways I've driven up and down
But Millstreet to me will always be Hometown.
A Claraghatlea man is all I'll ever be
Old Clara from me in distance far away
But in fancy I climb to the steel cross today
And in fancy I walk in the old fields again
And I hear the birds sing in the wind and the rain
The savage as is said loves his native shore
And I miss those old high fields of green Claramore
Good memories of what was we like to retain
And in the heart of the migrant nostalgia remain
The years have left me looking balder and gray
And I may feel like a stranger in Claraghatlea today
Many highways and byways I've driven up and down
But Millstreet to me will always be Hometown.
