Over Annach Mór bog rises Nephin Mór mountain
Between them, Lough Conn and the winding River Moy
And beyond them lie Achill and the broad Atlantic Ocean
To my back, Sliabh Gamph where I rambled as a boy
There in the middle of a midsummer's evening
I'd see the geese and the crows flocking home
When a ball of red fire sinked down behind Nephin
And putting itself out on the bright Atlantic foam
Carts crackle and crank behind cross-eyed asses
Carrying their poor masters to tea and to rest
When a clamor of a working day now at an ending
And the sinking sun disappeared down in the west
I sat cross-legged playing an old accordian
In the middle of a field that was facing the bog
Playing slow airs that none ever heard before
While the cold River Moy covered the Nephin in fog
As the back of beyond is a place that I'd love to be
Far from New York City, its concrete and pain
Where the air, it was clean, and the people were astounding
And it's there that my thoughts and dreams will remain
Over Annach Mór bog rises Nephin Mór mountain
Between them, Lough Conn and the winding River Moy
And beyond them lie Achill and the broad Atlantic Ocean
To my back, Sliabh Gamph where I rambled as a boy

KORREKTUREN ÃœBERMITTELN