Where the Old Roads Hold Me Fast (Irish Folk – Irish Pub Version)
The old songs rise at evening,
when the fire begins to glow.
They tell of who we used to be,
of fields we used to sow.
And every tale my fathers kept
still beats inside my chest—
for a man without his roots, they say,
won’t ever find his rest.
So raise your glass, my friends,
to the stories built to last!
Tradition is the anchor
that holds us steady, holds us fast.
From the old green hills of home
to the prayers the elders cast—
may the roots beneath our footsteps
guide us on the path we pass.
I walked the shores of memory,
heard the pipes across the wind.
They whispered: “Don’t forget, my lad,
the place where you begin.”
For the world grows loud and restless,
and the days go rushing by,
but the soul that keeps its grounding
will stand strong beneath the sky.
So raise your glass, my friends,
to the stories built to last!
Tradition is the anchor
that holds us steady, holds us fast.
From the old green hills of home
to the prayers the elders cast—
may the roots beneath our footsteps
guide us on the path we pass.
Lead: Hold tight—
Crowd: To the roots we know!
Lead: Stand firm—
Crowd: Where the old winds blow!
Lead: Live true—
Crowd: Let your spirit grow!
All: A rooted heart won’t break!
So raise your glass, my friends,
to the tales from long ago!
May the songs of all our elders
light the way where we must go.
And if ever life should shake you,
just remember this at last:
There’s no fear for those who’re grounded
where the old roads hold them fast.
S.
Song: https://www.ganjingworld.com/s/mrjbl3RQZZ