Ireland | Garth Brooks

They say Mother Earth is breathing with each wave that finds the shore. Her soul rises in me, born to open twilight's door. Her eyes are the stars in heaven. Watching o'er us all the while, and her heart it is in iron, deep within the emerald isle. We are forty against hundreds, someone else's bloody war. We know not why we're fighting, or what we're dying for. They will storm us in the morning, when the sunlight turns the sky. Death is waiting for its dance now. Fate has sentenced us to die. Ireland, I am coming home. I can see rolling fields of green, and fences made of stone. I am reaching out. Won't you take my hand? I'm coming home, Ireland. Oh, the captain he laid me. I can hear him calling me. Men are yours now for the lead. Show them to their destiny. As I look up all around me, see the ragged, tired, and torn. I tell them to make ready, as we're not waiting for them all. Ireland, I am coming home. I can see rolling fields of green, and fences made of stone. I am reaching out. Won't you take my hand? I'm coming home, Ireland. Now the fog is deep and heavy, as we forge the dark and fear. We can hear their horses breathing, as in silence we draw near. There are no words to be spoken, just a look to say goodbye. I draw breath and night is broken, as I scream our battle cry. Ireland, I am coming home. I can see rolling fields of green, and fences made of stone. I am reaching out. Won't you take my hand? I'm coming home, Ireland. Yes, I am home, Ireland. We were forty against time.