Ireland
The blood calls;
though ether, cross burren;
o’er rolling sea.
The blood calls,
It calls to me.
Womb chant,
rent from cavern deep;
crying from a mountain peak.
The blood calls,
It calls to me.
As I grew and grown should be,
Still, ancient memories call to me.
Though cell and synapse, wild and free,
The blood calls,
It calls to me.
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