Oh Ireland and its people, I love thee,
Though silent sun above me’s all I’ve known
When I’ve sailed o’er the silver salty sea -
I’ve not been jailed all winter in Athlone.
Oh hills of England, ne’er has heart outgrown
Your thrills; it rings like the bells of Penrith
As the cloud shadows dance on moor and stone -
But all that rain, perchance, I’ll do outwith.
Oh dragon’s lair of Wales, your song and myth
From Brecon fair regales to Pwllheli;
Now I’ll look back till croaking life hath flown -
How fucking soaked I got near Machynlleth.
In short, friend, thou canst not nor ne’er shall see
How shit it is when north wind hits your bone.
Sun 22 Apr 2007
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