The wild Atlantic Ocean thunders once again
Crashing on the rocks, like a boxer on his prey.
Sitting on the sand, I stare out at the abyss
Like O’Donnell and his men aboard their exile ship.
On the right I see Knockalla, towering like a king
Holding back the waves, as the Atlantic rolls in.
To my left I see Portsalon, a pier without a sound
The boats they lie empty, no fishermen around.
Many men have sat here, quietly staring at this sea
Dealing with their problems through the centuries.
To side with Dev or Collins; or to board the coffin ships
Or to take up arms with Tone to fight the bloody Brits.
The secrets of our country are hidden in these shores
Beneath the icy waters you can hear Cu Chulainn roar.
The Normans and the Vikings and the battles of our past
played out and celebrated as you hear each wave crash.
For this majestic coastline is the jewel in our crown
The golden grains of sand for miles and miles around.
Centuries of beauty, unspoilt for eyes to see
Centuries of beauty, which helped to set us free.
I take in all the beauty, I take in all the sounds
For tomorrow I depart, I’m New York City bound.
But amidst the city bustle, I’ll always find the time
To think of Tir Conaill and that wondrous coastline.