As the potato flowers are in bloom
You take the road which ever us do part?
Now that the sky is grey and overcast
And tears confound the country and the doom?
The grief will be for you the new abode
Perhaps a warmer grave and newer ethos
We shall unearth those emerald potatoes
Those precious stones dug out from where we hoed.
What kind of God preserved in secret heavens
May still be glad to gather our bones
With you, with us we cry on our tombs
With you with us a story ends in ruins.