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Lyrics:
She stands at the gate on a May afternoon Say’s my boy, he is coming back home The smell of baked bread and freshly made bad Have been waiting for him since the dawn In the distance a silhouette walks ever near Though the great golden sun blocks her view
A stranger appears, he holds back the tears Says 'I’ve some here to bring you news'
Oh, the isle it looks so pretty But the wind it cuts through your skin Tell he how is life in the city my son
'Sit down take a drop if whiskey, So what news have you come here to tell? Has he drank and gambled his wages Sure I tell you that boy’s gone to hell' 'Oh Mrs McCann. I am Sorry It’s far graver than that, please sit down Your boys took fall off the scaffold Found him lying there on the ground'
Oh, the isle it looks so pretty But the wind it cuts through your skin Tell he how is life in the city my son
And I pray all of your wishes, they come true And I hope that maybe someday I’ll be seeing you
'Oh, Mrs McCann these is nothing Could replace him, I understand But the boys back in Birmingham Before I depart, here’s a letter That I’m sure he was wanting to send He wasn’t much of a talker But he spoke fondly of you til the end'
Oh mother life is hard in this city The wind it cuts through your skin But I have no choice, more’s the pity. For now
And I pray all of your wishes, they come true And I hope that maybe someday I’ll be seeing you
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