Níl aon tinteán mar do thinteán féin

There is no place like home in Irish
Literally: there is no hearth like your own hearth

I ride my horse along the Irish
coastline on the green cliffs
The fog that comes from the sea
makes drops of moist on my skin
Or do I feel my tears

Every day I ride to the highest point
and watch the bay, the ocean
Many sailors left the land
Many never returned
The wind tells the tales
of the goodbyes that were said
the hearts that were broken

I never said goodbye to you
I left the door open
They told me to forget you
But how could I forget the other part of me

Every night I pray
and ask God to bring you back
I ask the wind of the four directions,
the fairies of the woods,
the spirits of the trees,
the angels from above
the fire within me,
that it may never fade
but burn brightly
to be your lighthouse
when you conquer stormy seas

Here on the green cliffs
Spirit gave me the visions
to keep hope alive
to keep my blood running

The mist gets thicker now
A veil of smoke around me
But the cliffs taught me to trust
my heart more than my eyes
My horse that follows
the direction of my thoughts

I see a figure emerge from the fog
I hear a singing voice
A man on his horse
Is it you?
Are you even real?

Did you hear my call
Can you see me
through your spiritual eyes
I knew your heart would always lead
you back to me
And one day you would return
to taste the fruits of home
to warm you with its fire

I knew you would