The holy pipes of Dublin

Dublin

 

I took a trip to the wildest place

Where no one could deceive me.

 

It was a place nearer hell

I knew you wouldn’t believe me.

 

The walls were bare wood dull

They felt they could make me free.

 

So I sold my soul with greatest ease

So I should never have to see.

 

The beer flowed and bubbled

Making us temporary see.

 

And we danced once again.

To the sound of the pipes of Dublin.

 

To the sound of the pipes of Dublin.

 

We whirled and flew

To the holy few

 

To the holy pipes of Dublin.

 

Behan and Joyce

Macgowan and Yeats.

 

Washed in history

Driven by the free.

 

Forever happily tormented

By the holy pipes of Dublin.

 

The holy pipes of Dublin.

 

The holy pipes of Dublin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

◄ Mental Health

tears ►

Comments

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LEON STOLGARD

Wed 15th Jul 2020 01:32

Somebody not that far away from my keyboard is on a ROLL! 😉
Ahh, tis a grand little poem an' all it is me foine Bucko!

Wul ye nat be after having some more loike this
in the poipe line then?

some great loines surr!

Tis Leon himself an all it is!


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