| G | D | G | |
| When apples still | grow in Novem | ber |
| C | G | D | |
| When | blossoms still | bloom from each | tree |
| C | G | |
| When | leaves are still green in De | cember |
| D | Bm | Em | |
| It's | then that our | land will be | free |
| C | G | |
| I | wander her hills and her | valleys |
| C | D | |
| And | still through my sorrow I | see |
| C | G | |
| A | land that has never know | freedom |
| D | Bm | Em | |
| And | only her | rivers run | free |
| I drink to the death of her manhood |
| Those men who'd rather have died |
| Than to live in the cold chains of bondage |
| To bring back thier rights were denied |
| Oh where are you now that we need you |
| What burns where the flame used to be |
| Are ye gone like the snows of last winter |
| And will only our ivers run free |
| How sweet is life but we're crying |
| How mellow the wine but we're dry |
| How fragrant the rose but it's dying |
| How gentle the wind but it sighs |
| What good is in youth when it's aging |
| What joy is in eyes that can't see |
| When there's sorrow in sunshine and laughter |
| And still only our rivers run free |