We are good people We mean nobody harm Beyond your cities In bog lands and in farms Close together We love our place We are strong We face what we must face I hear my fathers voice across the breeze Watch my children work all summer long I see the turf smoke rising From the chimney tops Carrying our stories and songs I hear my mother calling The evenings closing in Winter will be warm When all the turf is stored And come next springtime Well be bound for bog once More I hear my fathers Voice As my father did So will I do To the dream he lived by Ill be true For the skylark and the blackbird Know me well And this place without people Has no tale to tell I hear my fathers voice across the breeze