Irland

Oh Danny Boy, the pipes the pipes are calling, from glen to glen and down the mountain side.
The summer´s gone and all the roses falling, ´tis you ´tis you must go and I must bide.
But come ye back when summer´s in the meadow, or when the valley´s hushed and white with snow;
´tis I´ll be there in sunshine or in shadow.
Oh Danny Boy, Oh Danny Boy I love you so.

Lamia-@gmx.de