I hurt inside of nights
Mares of Ireland long in Gallow
Gentle settlements of the north burn
Frightful hauntings and return
Return not in sorrowful bade
Halted rising dress on patches dews
Blind feet scamper in cautious glee

Austere delight joining greys silver taunt

And wild streets in liquored brilliance
Convey omens hiding storms
Yet her simple smiles pleasure died
I've not returned by the doors

In the city I was born
Beside heavenly alters free
Terribled loud crowding walks high
My shortcuts beneath the gated baldlands
Underhanded stars of crimes
Mine only the letters
Kind and devout
Oh many devout promises of doom
Yet young Irish boy do fearful
Cannot travel with me near
Near Balboa and La Brea
Beside Sherman way and Ventura
His calligraphy scenes foreign in listing
Painful trust her laughter resents

Gentle Italy when will our tram return
I've gone from your meaningless words Irish boy
No such objects return to me

In my early days of county mayo we walked to the sod