No country for young men.
Scourge. (To the tune, Brennan on the Moor) throne room Byzantium A fleeting hush informs you As you enter at the door That you’ve been sussed,religiously At the speed of light,or more And every mother’s son of them Thinks he knows the score And you could be getting what you came for That,and a whole lot more. chorus Head her up for the border lads The girls are mighty fine Their easy laugh so natural Good and genuine And their spirits are untainted By false piety of mind So you can stick all that scripture Up where the sun don’t shine. And there was me just lookin’ For a girl,white ,black or brown Always liked the redheads With that wee inward frown But a chill, too familiar Tells me all I need to know T’is no place for a questing heart You may take your brogue and go. Head her up for the border boys Life’s too short to waste your time To bother to allay the fears That warp a planter’s mind They will steal your grapes and crush them Then sell you back the wine It’s a cold,bitter climate North of the borderline. Even if a lad should pull Across that great divide What appears on the cover Ain’t the story inside Coco and Dior Can no disguise provide If one is not living honestly Admit it; One has died. Head her up for the border lads There’s a busload up from Clare When god created women He left the best ones there And when we get to talkin’ Let’s all head on way out wesht We’ll not stop till we hit Galway And our Byzantine soul’s refreshed. Yo! amelia earhart
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