Hank Locklin - The Old Bog Road Lyrics
The Old Bog Road: Teresa BraytonMy feet are here on BroadwayThis blessed harvest morn,But oh! the ache that?s in my heartFor the spot where I was born.My weary hands are blisteredThrough work in cold and heat!And oh! to swing a scythe once moreThrough a field of Irish wheat.Had I the chance to wander back,Or own a king?s abode.I?d sooner see the hawthorn treeBy the Old Bog Road.When I was young and restlessMy mind was ill at ease,Through dreaming of America,And the gold beyond the seas.Oh, sorrow rake their money,?Tis hard to find the same,And what?s the world to any manIf no one speaks his name.I?ve had my day and here I amA-building bricks per load.A long three thousand miles awayFrom the Old Bog Road.My mother died last springtime,When Erin?s fields were green.The neighbours said her wakingWas the finest ever seen.There were snowdrops and primrosesPiled high above her bed,And Ferns Church was crowdedWhen her funeral Mass was read.And here was I on BroadwayA-building bricks per load.When they carried out her coffinDown the old Bog Road.There was a decent girl at homeWho used to walk with me.Her eyes were soft and sorrowfulLike moonlight o?er the sea.Her name was Mary Dwyer,But that was long ago.The ways of God are wiserThan the things that man might know.She died the day I left her,A-building bricks per load,I?d best forget the days I?ve spentOn the old Bog Road.Ah! Life?s a weary puzzle,Past finding out by man,I?ll take the day for what it?s worthAnd do the best I can.Since no one cares a rush for meWhat need is there to moan,I?ll go my way and draw my payAnd smoke my pipe alone.Each human heart must bear its griefThough bitter be the ?bodeSo God be with you, Ireland,And the Old Bog Road.
