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I've met some folk who say that I'm a dreamer
And I've no doubt there's truth in what they say
For sure a body's bound to be a dreamer
When all the the things he loves are far away.

And precious things are dreams unto an exile
They take him through a land across sea
Especially when it happens he's in exile
From that dear lovely Isle of Innisfree.

And when the moonlight peeps across the rooftops
Of this great city, wondrous though it be
I scarcely feel the beauty or the magic
I'm once again back home in Inisfree.

--- Instrumental ---

I wander o'er green hills and dreamy valleys
And find a peace no other land could know
I hear the birds make music fit for angels
And see the rivers laughing as they flow.

And then into a humble shack I wander
My own sweet home and tenderly behold
The folks I love around the turf fire gathered
On bended knees, their rosary is told.

But dreams don't last though dreams are not forgotten
When we are back to stern reality.
And though they pave the footways here with gold dust
I still would choose the Isle of Inisfree.

I still would choose the Isle of Inisfree...

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  • deiderique
    deideriqueFeb 22, 2014 at 2:16 am
    This is such an amazing piece of art. I love their interpretation. It's clearly about the writer's love of Ireland, but I think it resonates out to anyone whose been far from home for whatever reason. You can feel the ache of loneliness in each masterfully crafted line. Though simple in it's brief tale it's timeless in it's layers of rich detail. It's truly a vision painted with words and our poet has spared not his palette for he has used all the colors of his precious Isle and 'tis surely a rainbow that leads one to think there might be something to that pot of gold tale.
    I had to restart it as I try to explain these powerful feelings it provokes. All these wonderful threads woven delicately into a comforting scrim lit softy from the loom around the turf fire. Penned from memories vivid with scents, sounds flavors and the touch of a place that defines the term endearment and sets the table for a real debate on wealth and what is truly precious at the end of the day. I smell the green hills and I'd wager I'm not alone.
    But that said, talking about music is like dancing about architecture.

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