| Only Our Rivers Run Free |
|---|
| When apples still grow in November |
| When Blossoms still bloom from each tree |
| When leaves are still green in December |
| It’s then that our land will be free |
| I wander her hills and her valleys |
| And still through my sorrow I see |
| A land that has never known freedom |
| And only her rivers run free |
| I drink to the death of her manhood |
| Those men who’d rather have died |
| Than to live in the cold chains of bondage |
| To bring back their rights were denied |
| Oh where are you now when we need you |
| What burns where the flame used to be |
| Are ye gone like the snows of last winter |
| And will only our rivers run free? |
| How sweet is life but we’re crying |
| How mellow the wine but it’s dry |
| How fragrant the rose but it’s dying |
| How gentle the breeze but it sighs |
| What good is in youth when it’s aging |
| What joy is in eyes that can’t see |
| When there’s sorrow in sunshine and flowers |
| And still only our rivers run free |
