An Irish Drone & Blown Bottle

Testo:

© shiihs
Verse 1:
In the emerald hills of old Erin fair,
Where the rivers flow and the soft winds care,
Lies a land of legends, both fierce and kind,
Where ancient tales and songs unwind.


Verse 2:
With a fiddle's cry and a bodhrán's beat,
We raise our voices, our spirits fleet,
In the cozy warmth of the local inn,
Where laughter rings and stories begin.


Verse 3:
So here's to the green, and here's to the gold,
To the hearts that are brave and the stories old,
May the luck of the Irish be with us now,
As we raise our glasses and make our vow.