| Your mysteries lay hidden in stones that can’t speak,
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| Thru' time all your wondrous knowledge we seek,
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| Be ye tomb or a temple we’d like to know why
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| On mid-winter's morning you seek light from the sky,
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| Your white quartz stones must have brightened the days
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| When the sun it shone down and reflected it’s rays,
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| You refuse us a key or some Rosetta Stone,
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| We gaze on just Circles and Motifs and Bone.
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| Chorus:
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| Sing away Bru/ na Bo/inne on the Banks of the Boyne,
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| Fal de da for your glory would not yield to time,
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| Glory o! |
| to the men and the women laid to rest
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| Who brought greatness to Ireland, the Isle of the Blessed.
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| From your pillars of grandeur and the answer is sought,
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| When the tombs of the Pharoahs were only a thought,
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| Irish folk in their labour looked up from the Boyne
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| To see standing a temple that would not yield to time.
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| You saw Cheftains, Na Fianna and monks stopped to call
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| And they trampled the hills onto Tara’s Royal Halls,
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| And they watched on the Cradle of our art and design
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| That inspired Irish artists much later in time.
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| Chorus:
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| For you’re set in a county still Royal with it’s arms
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| With a river of beauty with countless wild charms.
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| You stand there majestic and tower on the plain,
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| And your Passage of Wonder a secret remains.
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| So be proud all of Ireland of a history long gone,
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| That inspired generations of men later on.
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| Your age is your greatness and a testament still
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| As we look at Bru/ na Bo/inne on a Co. Meath hill |