I may live far south of Hibernia's shore br And of the old high fields of green Claramore br But in my flights of fancy i hear the birds sing br On their nesting time in the prime of the Spring. br br Above the rank rushes the little brown lark does fly br For to welcome the dawn to the brightening sky br For as long as we live old memories with us remain br And in fancy we often go back home again. br br Old Clara was wearing his white hat of snow br When i left Duhallow two decades ago br The school children back then the parents of today br How quickly the time on our lives tick away. br br The changes are happening in Millstreet I'm told br And those i grew up with like me getting old br The clock on our lives it is ticking on fast br And in memory we only can cling to the past. br br A long way from Claragahatlea and Millstreet Town br From where Clara the old mountain ever looks down br But i bet most of the old fields i once knew by name br Despite the passing of time would still look the same br br As the old fields i knew when i was a boy br Remembering the past is a thing i enjoy br A new generation in Millstreet today br And those i grew up with showing their years in gray.