| They traveled across the angry sea in 1849
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| With all that they could carry
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| They traveled sick they traveled blind
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| Their home the starving island just a photo in their mind
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| They buried the dead at sea, winter 1849
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| The captain was a sailing man respected in his time
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| He’d made the journey twice before and almost lost his life
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| The hardest part was choosing who would sail and who would die
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| Left stranded with the hunger of 1849
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| They left behind the clans who’d been together a thousand years
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| With music and the memories ringing in their ears
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| They brought with them tradition and the will to work and die
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| In the land known for freedom, soil and sky
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| The memories of the loved ones, who were swallowed by the sea
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| Handed down from father to son along with a rosary
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| One black bead for every soul forever lost in time
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| Who never heard the New Year’s bell of 1849
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| They left behind the clans who’d been together a thousand years
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| With music and the memories ringing in their ears
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| They brought with them tradition and the will to work and die
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| In the land known for freedom, soil and sky
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| His name was Patrick Mulligan his eyes were steely blue
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| He lost his wife to famine and a younger son too
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| I know we’ll be united in the Lord’s good time
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| And hear the tales of family in 1849
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| They left behind the clans who’d been together a thousand years
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| With music and the memories ringing in their ears
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| They brought with them tradition and the will to work and die
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| In the land known for freedom, soil and sky |