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