Home is not a word
When we left, or fled, or fell in the ditches,
We became the gap in the triangle
Between Galway, Offaly and Tipp.
Hung, starved, and evicted, our lands confiscated
We were vanished for an alien economic convenience
There are no words in Irish for "it is mine".
Is liomsa é. It is with me
Where once were Larkins, Muintir Uí Lorcáin,
As many Larkins as salmon in the mighty flowing Shannon
We were thousands and thousands strong
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