Theres a town just north of belfast. White houses row on row where was raised an ulster family how proudly they did grow. Now proud and happy parents watched their son grow to a man and they taught him truth and justice in this part of ireland. Then one day there came a letter with his comrades he would go. To a place across the water where the tears and blood would flow so he waved farewell to ulster and next morning at the dawn a broken hearted mother sent her son off to the somme. Then one night as she lay sleeping in a dream there at the door stood a handsome looking soilder the kings colours he had wore. He said mother dont you know me let me in im feeling cold but the crimson blood upon his chest the fateful story told. Theres a town just north of belfast where a father proudly cries. And a broken hearted mother wipes the tears falling from her eyes. Theres a graveyard north of theipval the white crosses row on row where he sleeps beside his comrades now in the fields where the red poppies grow yes he sleeps beside his comrades now in the fields where the red poppies grow.