I turn into historic waters
As I emerge from Foleys Cut and turn right
That came from where my people are from
As I head to Belturbet for the night
These are waters from Lough Gowna
Against my boat which flows
My forefathers farmed the fields
Beside and watered by waters such as those.
It is but water, yes, but these waters
Are like the blood in our veins that flows:
A history, and identity some want to keep, more to forget
For the reasons each person themselves best knows.
The salmon swims back to where it was spawned,
This is as far up the Erne in this boat I can go,
I dip my hand in cold cold water,
That to here from our native Lough Gowna did flow.