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Crois-bhogha
Written by Marcas Mac an Tuairneir and Nick Turner
Produced by Nick Turner
Buy Now on Bandcamp
Crois-bhogha
Ged is leam-sa thu,
cha leam do ghàdraisg,
gun earbsa san duine bhiodh nad nàbaidh ann.
Chan eil fhios agam an leat-sa mi an-diugh,
fad nam bliadhnaichean a chùm mi bhuat,
tha mo thùs fhathast na mo ghuth.
Gun fhios an leiginn fhìn a’ chrois-bhogha,
Hì hò-rò hì hugainn ò.
Coimhead an saighead na mo thaobh,
dòrtadh fala thar an làir.
Cò mise nise bhith ri fair’ a’ bhalla?
Hì hò-rò hì hugainn ò.
Am mis’ am freiceadan, no an t-eilthireach?
Am faigh mi idir àite tàimh?
Ged as grinn do thìr,
is fuath do bhàrraisg,
gun dìol don neach’ a nì a cùram ann.
Chan eil fhios agam an leams’ an dùthaich chèin,
tha do ròs geal seo gun bhlàth, gun fhreumh,
is mo chluaran sìor-fhàs treun.
Gun fhios an leiginn fhìn a’ chrois-bhogha,
Hì hò-rò hì hugainn ò.
Coimhead an saighead tha na mo thaobh
dòrtadh fala thar an làir.
Cò mise nise bhith ri fair a’ bhalla?
Hì hò-rò hì hugainn ò.
Am mis’ am freiceadan, no an t-eilthireach?
Am faigh mi idir àite tàimh?
Ò, an cluinn thu an co-chòrdachd na mo bhroinn?
’S e sin an fhuaim de theudan cridhe
gan tarraing is a’ chrois-bhogha nis air ghleus,
's an co-sheirm ciùil is saor tha mi.
Gun fhios an leiginn fhìn a’ chrois-bhogha
Hì hò-rò hì hugainn ò.
Coimhead an saighead na mo thaobh
dòrtadh fala thar an làir.
Cò mise nise bhith ri fair a’ bhalla?
Hì hò-rò hì hugainn ò.
Am mis’ am freiceadan, no an t-eilthireach?
Am faigh mi idir àite tàimh?
Though you are mine,
I do not claim your turmoil,
the lack of trust in the man that would be your neighbour.
I don't know if I am yours, today,
through through the years that kept me from you,
my origins are still in my voice.
I don't know if I'd fire the crossbow,
Hì hò-rò hì hugainn ò,
Look at the arrow in my side,
blood flowing across the floor.
Who am I to walk the ramparts?
Hì hò-rò hì hugainn ò,
Am I the watchman, or the emigrant?
Will I ever find a place to dwell?
Though your land is beautiful,
your boasting is hateful,
without a care for the one who cares for it.
I don't know if this foreign land is mine,
your white rose grows here without a bloom or root,
but my thistle grows stronger daily.
I don't know if I'd fire the crossbow,
Hì hò-rò hì hugainn ò,
Look at the arrow in my side,
blood flowing across the floor.
Who am I to walk the ramparts?
Hì hò-rò hì hugainn ò,
Am I the watchman, or the emigrant?
Will I ever find a place to dwell?
Oh, can you hear harmony inside me?
That is the sound of heartstings
pulled and the crossbow fine-tuned,
but it's in music that I find freedom.
I don't know if I'd fire the crossbow,
Hì hò-rò hì hugainn ò,
Look at the arrow in my side,
blood flowing across the floor.
Who am I to walk the ramparts?
Hì hò-rò hì hugainn ò,
Am I the watchman, or the emigrant?
Will I ever find a place to dwell?