Lads of Tir na nog.
From the land of Tir Na Nog. A Dutchman hog in a coracle log. through the fog we see as fish…. without nets lest we be …. in this sea the ones we love are ones we hear ones we see. Ones who will never escape thee. where we lay the head , home the like it be. when I see your face the joy of the steady , the wild and the free no longer a ghost in my own house to me. I appreciate the differences of all I see. lads of Tir Na Nog. the youth like those of we. Death is place without a place, the land of no decree. love is the life A well, a spring, overflowing in the lives of you and me.