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Saint Sister @Saint_Sister_ 6 hours ago
‘Derry is such a beautiful city. I’ve fallen in love with it over the past year, while falling in love with a woman who hails from it. Here’s to better times ahead and saying goodbye to bombs and bullets once and for all.’ – Lyra McKee Today we stand with her, & Derry & Belfast.
Oh, my life is changing everyday
In every possible way
And oh, my dreams
It’s never quite as it seems
Never quite as it seems
I know I felt like this before
But now I’m feeling it even more
Because it came from you
Then I open up and see
The person falling here is me
A different way to be
Aah, la-ah-la-ah
La-la-la
La-ah-la-ah
I want more, impossible to ignore
Impossible to ignore
And they’ll come true
Impossible not to do
Possible not to do
And now I tell you openly
You have my heart so don’t hurt me
You’re what I couldn’t find
A totally amazing mind
So understanding and so kind
You’re everything to me
Oh, my life is changing everyday
In every possible way
And oh, my dreams
It’s never quite as it seems
‘Cause you’re a dream to me
Dream to me
Source: Musixmatch
Songwriters: Dolores Mary O’riordan / Noel Hogan
Her eyes and words are so icy
Oh but she burns
Like rum on the fire
Hot and fast and angry as she can be
I walk my days on a wire.
It looks ugly, but it’s clean,
Oh momma, don’t fuss over me.
The way she tells me I’m hers and she is mine
Open hand or closed fist would be fine
The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.
Calls of guilty thrown at me
All while she stains
The sheets of some other
Thrown at me so powerfully
Just like she throws with the arm of her brother.
But I want it
It’s a crime
That she’s not around most of the time.
The way she shows me I’m hers and she is mine
Open hand or closed fist would be fine
Blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.
Her fight and fury is fiery
Oh but she loves
Like sleep to the freezing
Sweet and right and merciful
I’m all but washed
In the tide of her breathing.
And it’s worth it, it’s divine
I have this some of the time.
The way she shows me I’m hers and she is mine
Open hand or closed fist would be fine
The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine.
Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Andrew Hozier Byrne
The banks of my own lovely Lee How oft do my thoughts in their fancy take flight To the home of my childhood away, To the days when each patriot’s vision seem’d bright Ere I dreamed that those joys should decay. When my heart was as light as the wild winds that blow Down the Mardyke through each elm tree, Where I sported and play’d ‘neath each green leafy shade On the banks of my own lovely Lee. And then in the springtime oflaughterr and song Can I ever forget the sweet hours? With the friends of my youth as we rambled along ‘Mongst the green mossy banks and wild flowers. Then too, when the evening sun’s sinking to rest Sheds its golden light over the sea The maid with her lover the wild daisies pressed On the banks of my own lovely Lee The maid with her lover the wild daisies pressed On the banks of my own lovely Lee ‘Tis a beautiful land this dear isle of song Its gems shed their light to the world And her faithful sons bore thro’ ages of wrong, The standard St. Patrick unfurled. Oh! would I were there with the friends I love best And my fond bosom’s partner with me We’d roam thy banks over, and when weary we’d rest By thy waters, my own lovely Lee, We’d roam thy banks over, and when weary we’d rest By thy waters, my own lovely Lee, Oh what joys should be mine ere this life should decline To seek shells on thy sea- girdled shore. While the steel-feathered eagle, oft splashing the brine Brings longing for freedom once more. Oh all that on earth I wish for or crave Is that my last crimson drop be for thee, To moisten the grass of my forefathers’ grave On the banks of my own lovely Lee To moisten the grass of my forefathers’ grave On the banks of my own lovely Lee
65,990 views May 6, 2012Daniel performs the popular Irish ballad by Percy French at the Green Glens Arena in Millstreet, County Cork on New Year’s Eve 1994.
Lyrics
The Garden of Eden has vanished, they say But I know the lie of it still; Just turn to the left at the bridge of Finea And stop when halfway to Cootehill. ‘Tis there I will find it, I know sure enough When fortune has come to me call, Oh the grass it is green around Ballyjamesduff And the blue sky is over it all. And tones that are tender and tones that are gruff Are whispering over the sea, Come back, Paddy Reilly to Ballyjamesduff Come home, Paddy Reilly, to me. My mother once told me that when I was born The day that I first saw the light, I looked down the street on that very first morn And gave a great crow of delight. Now most newborn babies appear in a huff, And start with a sorrowful squall, But I knew I was born in Ballyjamesduff And that’s why I smiled on them all. The baby’s a man, now he’s toil-worn and tough Still, whispers come over the sea, Come back, Paddy Reilly to Ballyjamesduff Come home, Paddy Reilly, to me. The night that we danced by the light of the moon, Wid Phil to the fore wid his flute, When Phil threw his lip over Come Again Soon, He’s dance the foot out o’ yer boot! The day that I took long Magee by the scruff For slanderin’ Rosie Kilrain, Then, marchin’ him straight out of Ballyjamesduff, Assisted him into a drain. Oh, sweet are the dreams, as the dudeen I puff, Of whisperings over the sea, Come back, Paddy Reilly to Ballyjamesduff Come home, Paddy Reilly, to me. I’ve loved the young women of every land, That always came easy to me; Just barrin’ the belles of the Black-a-moor brand And the chocolate shapes of Feegee. But that sort of love is a moonshiny stuff, And never will addle me brain, For the bells will be ringin’ in Ballyjamesduff For me and me Rosie Kilrain! And through all their glamour, their gas and their guff A whisper comes over the sea, Come back, Paddy Reilly to Ballyjamesduff Come home, Paddy Reilly, to me. Encore verse I’ve struck oil at last! I’ve struck work, and I vow I’ve struck some remarkable clothes, I’ve struck a policeman for sayin’ that now, I’d go back to my beautiful Rose. The belles they may blarney, the boys they may bluff But this I will always maintain, No place in the world like Ballyjamesduff No guril (sic) like Rosie Kilrain. I’ve paid for my passage, the sea may be rough But borne on each breeze there will be, Come back, Paddy Reilly to Ballyjamesduff Come home, Paddy Reilly, to me.
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