by Daniel Kelly – 2020
G C G Once upon a time, when the singer sang a song, C G C D Drawn up from the memory, whether short or long, G The people sitting around the fire, D G Would feel it in their soul, C G Carry it the long road home, C D G Its words would make them whole. Stories of the ancestors, or the land where they were born, A striking fair young maiden, a hunter with his horn, Embedded in the rocks and soil, The essence of their land, Passed down through generations, Shared from heart and hand. But now the music blurs the words, lost amongst the noise, Made with knobs and widgets, electronic toys, The people that might listen, Their minds on other things, They pay the song no notice, Don’t know what the singer sings, Take me back to that stone hut, amidst the winters cold, Where voice told the stories of heroes young and old, I see the sword of Fionn mac Cumhaill, Slicing the smoke haze, Battling the giants, In those ancient days.