Dedicated to the tens of thousands of Irish who came to British North America fleeing famine in
1847-1848 only to be buried here, and to my great-great grandfather, John Ireland who came a few years later.
Head filled with dreams of better land
Stomach filled with hunger pain
With my right I grasp my lover's hand
With my left I hold all that remains of our life
Boared a ship for Grosse Isle
By way of Liverpool
Followed the great diaspora
With my wife to face the new world
The inside of a ship of was the last she ever saw
Though the fever gave her visions of home
Sing me a song of the land that I call home
Sing me a song of Ireland
I'll fake a smile 'til these Irish eyes seen green
And my feet stroll the fields of my childhood
Landed days later in the port of Quebec
Just coffins, bobbing in the brine
Physicians came on board for the living
Wrenched my lover's hand from mine
The inside of a ship of was the last I ever saw her
She was buried in pit with the rest ...
But I stole one last kiss, before we forcefully were parted
Breathe disease in these lungs to catch dreams of home
Sing me a song of the land that I call home
Sing me a song of Ireland
I'll fake a smile 'til these Irish eyes seen green
And my feet stroll the fields of my childhood
Sing me a song of the land that I call home
Home of the bones of my fathers
I long to see the jewel God planted in the sea
So sing me a song of Ireland
