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Marc Roberts
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The Promise
Listen to the sound of the ocean
As it carries your dreams to the shore
Gone like the snows of last Winter
Lost like the promise of yore
Where the land of desire made plenty
Where your future was there to behold
And the dark distant days of our childhood
A story that's no longer told
We were guided by God as our anchor
But the Devil he led us astray
Every last dollar we bled for
The loneliness stole it away
Determined we struggled together
Blinded by the lights of Time Square
But the sod and the smell of the heather
Lingered in hearts of disappear
Together we're lost in a land
Where we feel so alone
And the deafening cry of regret
Is calling me home
If ever the promise I made
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I can finally fulfil
I will rest in the land
Of my Father in Glencolmcille
The youngest arrived here last Thursday
With excitement he could hardly contain
Dead on his feet from the journey
Dying to be part of the game
Laden with tales of the Glenties
I couldn't but help shed a tear
For if God saved a prayer for old Ireland
Would anyone choose to be here?
Together we're lost in a land
Where we feel so alone
And the deafening cry of regret
Is calling me home
If ever the promise I made
I can finally fulfil
I will rest in the land
Of my Father in Glencolmcille.
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