I was sitting in a station bar somewhere in America,
when an old man came to me.
He said "Can I sit next to you?", and I had nothing else to do.
So he sat down and drank his beer.
He told me 'bout the rocks and hills, about the autumn and its chill
about the valleys and the rain.
And then he spoke of former times, about his children and his wife
and about what yet remained.

Suddenly he said: "My son,
do you know the land, where I've come from?", and he asked

Refrain:
Do you know the land of green, its rough and stormy sea,
do you know the island of the rain ?
Do you know the land of green, it's wonderous scenery,
do you know the island of the rain ?

Many of us had left their homes, never felt the westwind blow again,
he said with lonely eyes.
They once had worked upon the land, that now is in some strangers hands
he said with angry eyes.
The more he spoke, the more he drank,
the more he kept on telling 'bout his land, and he said.

Refrain
Even though the bar was full of noise, he began to lower his voice.
He stood up without a word.
Although it is five years ago I swear that I exactly know
every word that he had said
I still can see his trembling hands, as he told the story 'bout his land
The land of green.

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