Vedanto_Art · English · 2026-10-01 · folk, ballad, irish
Uma balada folk na tradição das canções da Grande Fome de 1848, cantada em inglês e gaélico irlandês, e ambientada na Alemanha de hoje, onde duas partes de três do que você ganha vão para o Estado, e os cansados começam a partir de novo. Violão e fiddle, um pub que se esvazia a cada estrofe.
Verse 1
They tell us tales of ancient times, when lords took just a tenth But now the crown in Berlin town, they take until there's nothing left Two parts of three they steal from me, for those who won't provide The more I toil, the less I keep, the more they take beside
Verse 2
I studied hard, I earned my mark, but papers mean no more The lazy man gets equal share, while my back is sore Solidarity they cry, but force it with a rod No man gives freely when the hand belongs to God
Chorus
So sail away, sail away, like Irishmen before When the land you loved has turned to dust, and the taxman breaks your door Sail away, sail away, across the western sea Where a man can keep what he has earned, and his soul can still be free
Verse 3
Tá mé tuirseach, I'm worn and torn, my spirit broken down An tír dhúchas spits me out, no place for me in town The young ones leave by hundreds now, two hundred thousand gone To find a life where work is prized, before the break of dawn
Verse 4
The fiddle weeps, the pint grows stale, the pub is empty now The best have left for foreign shores, they could not break the plough So raise a glass to those who fled, who chose the ocean wide For Germany has lost her way, and left her sons behind
Chorus
Outro, spoken
Two hundred thousand sailed last year... how many more this time?