To love,
To hope,
To these fire ambers,
And to all the
kelly green
For my love,
I left you there,
In Ireland.

There are two types of men,
Who pass me bye:
And those women with
Their babies
On their arms.
They were either beasts of the field
Or fools for the aire,
Crossing the sea –
Burning their own house down –

And to the time, we took them in
And to the time, we took to notice them
And to that runaway train
We began
We were armed on the line
at the stone church.

To our Irish grandparents
who Did too, on the old homestead
So none could go live there ever again.
And a black bird sad
Sang to the dead at night
We all were just waiting for
That moment again, to arise.

So here comes Johnny walker
And here he comes waling at these walls
Going about, walking about or
On a walk about…

If rather go walking
than to the front-line?
With these red stained linens
With lions and for our some crown
go Broken, for that is the only way home!

like that there: in Ireland…
like A cashbox in the field we just found!