written by Jim Ibbotson

My heart was warm with family love as I slipped into a chair
beside my uncle John, my daughters 'cross the table there.
I'd walked the docks in misty rain, the pain was in my legs,
but I'd seen the dream of kinsmen in the boats of Killybegs.

The banter of my uncle and my daughters filled the air,
and the Donegallers next to us were glad we were there.
I was kinda quiet, listenin' at the window ledge
for the music of the harbor, the birds of Killybegs.

Down the coast not far was Galway, land of Joyce and Connemara.
After supper and a sleep we would be goin' there tomorrow.
I worried if my words would e'er be sung by Irishmen,
or rot here on the docks, like the fish of Killybegs.

The radio was playing, but we never heard a word.
The rhythm of the music was familiar but absurd.
A heartening intensity for silence did I beg,
Oh, what a song was playin' in the air of Killybegs.

I couldn't quite believe it, for it sounded rather strange.
The instruments were different, and the key, it had been changed.
I reached to turn the volume up, then teetered on my legs,
a girl from Tipperary sang my song in Killybegs.



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