It's time for me to write once more
But my mind flowed slowly of inspiration
It's May Day, as I glance around
A Country on Its Knees
Come, all you people of Ireland's green land,
Follow the march and give us a hand,
You came to the grounds of Granard'sChurch.
What could be worse?
This fairy woman of Ireland, set in history to be forthwith.
Messenger of death, is part of our folklore and myth
There are many tales of her sorrowful sound and sad cry
The wailing lament of the Banshee sigh
You come into my dreams,
I cannot stop you,
You enter the corridor of my most inner mind,
Plundering, trampling on my hopes of joy.
Hell on Earth
Woe to you, Sister
And woe to your cane.
My memories are full of the doors and corridors of my life,
Kids wondered why I had no kin other than a grandmother.
Being fatherless, followed by the shame of it, plus unwanted by a mother,
The first corridor is of early childhood, living in an Irish Catholic cocoon.
At the café, there was a jukebox playing,
Those Brown Eyes, I know the song so well.
There is a vast bizarre storm approaching the land of the shamrock'
It is brewing awhile, changing its direction and its appearance.