Irish Song Lyrics 
from www.traditionalmusic.co.uk 
The Jail of Cluan Meala 
How hard is my fortune, how vain my repining The strong rope of fate for my young neck is twining My strength is departed, my cheeks sunk and sallow While I languish in chains in the jail of Cluan Meala 
No boy in the village was ever yet milder I could play with a child and my sport be no wilder I could dance without tiring from morning till evening And my goal ball I'd strike to the lightning of heaven 
At my bed foot decaying my hurley is lying Through the lads of the village my goal ball is flying My horse 'mong the neighbours neglected may follow While this heart young and gay lies cold in Cluan Meala 
Next Sunday the pattern at home will be keeping All the lads of the village the fields will be sweeping And the dance of fair maidens the evening will hallow While this heart young and gay lies cold in Cluan Meala