John and Mary went to live in the Midwest in 1950.
They worked as hard as immigrants, bought a house and a used car,
But their home was still to be a long, long way from Detroit City.
It called out of the lost part of their hearts,
And their Irish eyes only really smiled when they thought of County Kerry;
The other times they mostly squinted out.
They reared their kids to sing the songs and share in the same longing,
No fault of theirs this love of loyal hearts,
For what was missing.
Like an animal who'll choose to lose his leg to gain his freedom
And leave it cut and torn inside the trap,
When feelings stir and hearts are opened up for any reason,
The missing piece aches deeply to go back.
Their feelings stirred on holidays, especially Christmas morning,
When Brighde, Tom, and Maureen ran with glee into their play.
Mary left alone would pick up paper, bows, and wrapping,
And John would peel the turnips and make tea.
There were silences on days like that that needed no explaining,
Their hearts were with their families back in Kerry.
And the wild beauty of the land to their memory calling --
No pity now, you've learned to bear the pain
For what was missing.
And Mary's house is empty now; the plant in town is closing.
Old John's put in his thirty years; Mary's ready to retire.
This should be the time to head back home to what's been missing,
But their heart's no longer sure of their desire.
They talk for months and months of pensions, punts, and their survival,
For neither wants to say what they both know:
They'd only be the Yanks at home and they'd miss their grandkids growing;
They'll stay right here and reap what they have sown,
For what was missing.
Like an animal who'll choose to lose his leg to gain his freedom
And leave it cut and torn inside the trap,
When feelings stir and hearts are opened up for any reason,
The missing piece aches deeply to go back.
The missing piece aches deeply.