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(hummmm) Stone-built cottage
where the boundaries trace
Generations carved into this quiet place
No yellow pines, no dusty desert trail
Just green hills waking
under misty veil
And the clouds are hanging low
upon the ridge Where the river
bends beneath the old stone bridge
In these rolling fields where the wild wind blows Through the ancient
valleys where the heather grows I don't need the plains or the
southern skies
This green land is where my spirit lies
Down the country lanes where the hawthorns bloom
Watching shadows stretch in the afternoon
They sing of highways stretching endless wide
But I'll take the footpaths on the mountainside
In these rolling fields where the wild wind blows Through the ancient
valleys where the heather grows I don't need the plains or the
southern skies
This green land is where my spirit lies This green land...
Where my spirit lies (ahhhh)