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Oh I don't know
if you'll ever read this letter,
But I'm writing, anyway, to let you know,
With pen in hand I sit here by the campfire,
And hear my comrades singing soft and low.
I thank you, for years of love and
laughter,
For constancy to me through joy and pain,
And I wonder here, "I love you", really matters,
I may never see your lovely face again.
Chorus.
And I'm yearning for the Mists of Dalriada,
And I miss the Lagan River flowing slow,
And I hunger for your love dear,
'Cos when the morning comes dear,
A bugle call, my darling I must go.
Well it seems a million miles from
Belfast City,
From home and fire and children growing tall,
At this time when fears and doubts beset me,
Dread night before the Battle of the Somme.
And I don't know what tomorrow holds,
my lovely,
As I face the angry thunder of the gun,
When wailing banshee shells explode above me,
And the Valliant Men of Ulster give their blood.
Chorus.
And I'm yearning for the Mists of Dalriada,
And I miss the Lagan River flowing slow,
And I hunger for your love dear,
'Cos when the morning comes dear,
A bugle call, my darling I must go.
The air is full of fearful expectations
This gethsemane of waiting's hard to bear,
But memories of you bring consolation,
Well, a shiny rose beneath the tangled wire.
And I need to tell you that I really
love you,
And I know I haven't said it for so long,
My heart will hold the fragrance of your love dear,
Tomorrow at the Battle of the Somme.
Chorus.
And I'm yearning for the Mists of Dalriada,
And I miss the Lagan River flowing slow,
And I hunger for your love dear,
'Cos when the morning comes dear,
A bugle call, my darling I must go.
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