The house where I was born.

The sun shines bright through cobwebbed leaves

Casting its light on torn eaves

A window flaps in the summer breeze

On a bright May summer morn.

Reflecting back when I was young.

The kitchen where the rafters rang.

As many a fine old song was sung

In the house where I was born.

Built with clay and rugged stone

With thatchers reeds its roof was sewn

Though falling now it's still my home

Like a rose among the thorns

The lime stone floor,where first I crept,

The windy loft,where first I slept

Memories, of the day I left

The house where I was born.

Chorus

Leaving wasn't easy on that day so long ago.

Pack your bags and leave it all

Answering a far off call,

A promise made to soon return again.

I still can hear the music play

As we would dance,until the light of day.

For tomorrow I would go away

Though my heart is sad and torn

Standing by the old half door

As I left to seek'a foreign shore

Wondering if I'd see once more

The house where I was born

Around the hob when nights were cold

The crickets sang while tales were told

Of far off lands,in days of old

'Til the clock would ring its warning

As a child ide sometimes sit and glance.

At the bellows wheel I would wait my chance

To make the flames, appear and dance

In the house where I was born

REPEAT CHORUS.

RINGVILLE Music©        Music and words by…Paul Grant.