The Dreaming Sea
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There’s Always SundayI’m not afraid I know what’s your mind And there’s always Sunday, to change your mind You say there’s a place where two rivers meet That there’s always Sunday, to change your mind So offer me, one more sweet seduction And there’s always Sunday, to change your mind |
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The Dreaming SeaThe Dreaming Sea you and me |
Mi le m’uilinnMi le m’uilinn air mo ghluin Shil mo shuil shuil nuair chaidh siuil Dearcam fhathast air mo ghaol Seid seimh, socair, o ghaoth Tuath Gheall a Pillidh mis, a ghraidh Bidh mi guidhe air mo ghluin Aiseig fallain O Ghaoth Tuath |
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Early Morning GreyI’m driving through the open roads of hometown I’ve been working day and night for this moment No more running at the moon in all it’s splendour There’s something in this season so golden |
‘Ic Iain ‘Ic SheumaisThis song celebrates a battle between the Macdonalds and Macleods at Carnis h, North Uist in 1601. The composer it is said was moved to poetry by the death throes of the young Macdonald chieftain, and sang to drown out the latter’s moans as his lifes blood seeped through his linen shirt and drenched the ground. It was a peculiarity of the gaels of Ireland and Scotland that love – love, sudden and threatning – when destroyed by death did not diminish with the passage of time. Rather, if the dull-hammer blows of fate were properly mourned and unbridled expression given to grief, love becomes a bitter kind of birth. |
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An fhideag airigidCo a sheinneas an fhideag airigid |
The Silver WhistleWho will play the silver reed (for pipe chanter), when the Son of my King is It is a matter of historical record that hundreds of volunteers were found who were willing to play the silver reed for the homecoming of the Son of th eir King, and that thousands more made the supreme sacrifice for his dommed cause. This is surely testimony to the intensity of the affection the Jacobites had for the house of Stewart in general and for Prince Charles Edward Stewart in particular. |
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At the end of the nightIs your love a river |
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Move OnImagine a place where you don’t need a name Dirty face and oily hands, but adament of life so clean and so pure From the backstreets of this island, move on, move on |
CalbharaighChaneil mo shul air Calbharaigh Chaneil mo shul air Calbharaigh Chaneil mo shul air Calbharaigh |
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EvangelineEvangeline Though the summer is over Evangeline |