| I am going to the country
|
| Going down that verdant lane
|
| With nothing but a whistle in my hand
|
| And a pocket full of rain
|
| Can you hear that distant sound
|
| Coming down the West Clare railway
|
| Running with the shades of Gloria
|
| The wind is full of memories
|
| That murmur and sigh
|
| Hills lie in the foaming grass of Clare
|
| Below the cold moon’s eye
|
| But you should come and see them now
|
| When they are on fire
|
| And running with the shades of Gloria
|
| And the waves roll at the headland
|
| When the tide is rising there
|
| And here there is starlight falling
|
| Down on the hills of Clare
|
| I knew them when I was hungry
|
| And I knew when I was scared
|
| And running with the shades of Gloria
|
| And I am going to the country
|
| Where Miko in his prime
|
| Weaves a thread of melody
|
| In his own sweet time
|
| You can hear him sing and whistle
|
| Anytime you care
|
| To go running with the shades of Gloria
|
| I am going to the country
|
| Going down that verdant lane
|
| With nothing but a whistle in my hand
|
| And a pocket full of rain
|
| Can you hear that distant sound
|
| Coming down the West Clare railway
|
| Running with the shades of Gloria
|
| Gloria |