I've met some folk who say that I'm a dreamer,
And I've no doubt there's truth in what they say.
But sure a body's bound to be a dreamer,
When all the things he loves are far away.
And precious things are dreams unto an exile,
They take him o'er the land across the sea.
Especially when it happens he's an exile,
From that dear lovely isle of innisfree.
And when the moonlight peeps across the rooftops,
Of this great city, wondrous though it be.
I scarcely feel it's wonder or it's laughter,
I'm once again back home in innisfree.
I wonder o'er green hills athrough dreamy valleys,
And find the peace no other land could know.
I hear the birds make music fit for angels,
And watch the rivers, laughing as they flow.
But dreams don't last, though dreams are not forgotten,
And soon I'm back, to stern reality.
But though they pave the footways here with gold dust,
I still will choose the isle of innisfree.
