Oh, to write a song like any man, that’s what I wish to do,
And to sing about the place I love in words both fine and true,
And let the one who has never seen the beauty of my home
Imagine in his nightly dream the place where I come from.
You’ve heard of the Garden of Ireland and the Rose of Mooncoin so fair,
The Killeshin hills are beautiful still and the wonderful Plains of Kildare.
But somewhere between there’s a treasure unseen, it’s a place that I think you should…
In that chilling trial court hall,
We heard the victim called,
Filled with fear of what he’d say,
Cause he failed to pay his way,
Will his home not be his own?
Seems like eviction the following day.