The Hard Roads

The hard roads of life I have been up and down Since I left the old fields west of Millstreet Town Where Finnow from Gneeves by grove and hedgerow On towards the Blackwater at Drishane as ever does flow. In fancy I climb on old Clara again And hear the lark singing in the clouds of rain His descendants sing o'er the old hill today And the clock on my life it is ticking away. To the father of time we eventually must bow And we only can live in the here and the now The boy of the fifties decades past his prime To remember his best days must go back in time. So many miles south of Hibernia's shore And the roadway that leads from Millstreet to Rathmore The clock on our lives it ticks on and on And though we remember the past the past it has gone.