English (machine translation)
A Camas the furnace, my five thousand goodbye,
Rídheas not where you come to Big Mary Festival,
Not hear any scream Mhaidne countries child or children,
And they did not insult anyone ever live.
And there is every kind of bird fluffy it never grew Dhar,
The druideach the thrush and blackbird on a branch,
And morning lark síorsheinm the musical,
And that she would take the fog the sadness of your heart.
And the first goodbye, a Tower Camas, not the place you were rídheas,
Galway you could see, and top Oughterard
Camas, Glinn Chatha, is the Máimín Across Valley,
Sound of White Beach and Hill Leitir Mor.
And when I was in gCamas I was particularly difficult to satisfy,
Or I would walk the static, some down and up,
But now I'm in Boston, is not where it rídheas,
But first I sadly without gCamas again.
And two death will come against me tomorrow,
I would call it space, a week or two,
Camas ropes or visit my friends,
Sínfead my bones that the nature forever.
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