Push for PORTER

By myself I'd be in Ard Tí Cuain,
Where the mountain stands away,
And 'tis I would let the Sunday go,
In the quiet land above the bay.

Agus, och och Éire uilig is Ó,
Éire lionndubh agus Ó,
Ah, the quiet land of Erin.

Oh my heart is weary all alone,
And it sends a lonely cry,
To the land that sings beyond my dreams,
And the lonely Sundays pass me by.

Agus, och och Éire uilig is Ó,
Éire lionndubh agus Ó,
Ah, the quiet land of Erin.

I would rather back the twisted years,
Through the bitter wasted wind,
If the Lord above would let me lie,
In a quiet place above the wind.

Agus, och och Éire uilig is Ó,
Éire lionndubh agus Ó,
Ah, the quiet land of Erin.