Fare thee well to Prince's Landing Stage. Mersey River, fare thee well. Well, I am bound for California, but I know that I'll return someday. So fare thee well, my own true love. When I return united we will be. It's not the leaving of

We will fight to save this We will fight to keep it alive This is a 'cause worth fighting for We will rescue and restore This is a barren wasteland A lonely place Where inspiration goes to die Rescue the beauty that's left Restore the character that's

The cavalries charged When God's on your side Oh my name it ain't nothin' My age it means less The country I come from Is called the Midwest I was taught and brought up there The laws to abide And that land that I live in

Woke up this morning, feel 'round for my shoes, You know 'bout that babe, had them old walkin' blues. Woke up this morning, I feel 'round for my shoes, You know 'bout that babe, Lord, I had them old walkin' blues. Leavin' this morning, I had to go ride

And what you've seen isn't there anymore Just like it has before Now we can say that nothing's lost and only change brings round the prophecy Where now it's melting, the solid frost was once a veil on greener landscapes we would see Beneath my surface

A curse upon you Oliver Cromwell, you who raped our Motherland I hope you're rotting down in hell for the horrors that you sent To our misfortunate forefathers whom you robbed of their birthright "To hell or Connaught" may you burn in hell tonight Have

Out on the water The island of the dead that live There they dwelt Until they left the world and Still their deeds live forth in songs

And it makes me so angry I can feel your body When I'm lying in bed There's too much confusion Going around through my head To know that the flame still burns Why can't I get over? When will I ever learn?

Lullaby of Birdland, that's what I Always hear when you sigh Never in my wordland Could there be ways to reveal In a phrase how I feel Have you ever heard two turtle doves Bill and coo when they love? That's the kind of magic Music we make with our lips

A curse upon you Oliver Cromwell You who raped our Motherland I hope you're rotting down in hell For the horrors that you sent To our misfortunate forefathers Whom you robbed of their birthright Have you ever walked the lonesome hills And heard the