6.png

Crois-bhogha

Written by Marcas Mac an Tuairneir and Nick Turner

Produced by Nick Turner

a0699341394_16.jpg

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?