Something Lost Forever

They roamed the roads of Ireland in horse drawn caravan And I envied them their freedom the carefree wandering clan Their favourite horses Pinto in colours white and brown And two weeks at most their longest stay in any country town I often sat by their campfire as a primary school going boy The sparks from the burning timbers flew upwards in the sky From the old fellow's squeeze box sweet music it did ring And I watched on in wonder as the travellers did dance and sing. Their ancestors tenant farmers that Cromwell put on the road And left them to the wandering life of the no fixed abode They became expert tinsmiths and they sold their tin pots and cans And they drove around the countryside in their horse drawn caravans. Though their nomadic lifestyles others could not understand They were such gifted people the most gifted in Ireland They had the gifts of happiness and of music, dance and song And to a dispossessed race their ancestors belong. The mid to late fifties in Ireland brought with them such great change And to see them driving motor vans to say the least seemed strange And something lost forever and I longed for what had been And their Pinto horse drawn gipsy caravans no longer to be seen. And though something's lost forever the memories with me remain And I fancy I am sitting by their warm camp fire again And from the old bloke's squeeze box such pleasant music ring And I watch on in wonder as the travellers dance and sing.