Lyre isn't a destination—it's a direction. A cluster of houses and a few scattered shops in the Maughanasilly hills between Dunmanway (8km north) and Bantry (18km south). The landscape is what you came for. Rolling pasture, stone walls, the kind of upland farming country where the rain comes in sideways and the views go on forever.
There's no reason to stop here unless you're heading somewhere else, or you're lost, or you're the kind of person who stops anyway. No pubs to speak of. No restaurants. The shop is a shop. That honesty—the absence of the performed welcome—is perhaps the only remarkable thing. What you see is what you get. Which is enough.