The skylark from the bracken rise and upwards he goes winging
And o’er the slopes of Clara hill I still can hear him singing.
The redbreast in the wind and rain is singing in the wild wood
And the gray fog is stealing down o’er the mountain of my childhood
And the sun it shows it’s face again as the wind driven rain clouds scatter
And the territorial magpie in the wood around his borders chatter.
The Hillman he returns home when he starts visualizing
He sees the hill in the gray dawn just as the sun is rising
The birds sing in the mountain wood the joy in him awaken
And each bird he recognize by song the voice can’t be mistaken.
The Hillman he may leave the hill but where’er his journey take him
The hill to him is always near it never will forsake him
Wildflowers bloom by the babbling stream down from the high field flowing
And he hear again the skylark sing and the cock pheasant crowing.