Sharon Shannon,born in Corofin, County Clare is an Irish musician. She is best known for her work with the accordion and for her fiddle technique. She also plays the tin whistle and melodeon. Here is one of my favorite Sharon Shannon songs, Blackbird http://www.daisydiscs.com/ss/ DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE FOOTAGE OR MUSIC USED FOR MY VIDEOS. THEY ARE MADE FOR ENTERTAINMENT, NOT PROFIT
Today is gonna be the day that they’re gonna throw it back to you And by now, you should’ve somehow realised what you gotta do I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now
And backbeat, the word is on the street that the fire in your heart is out I’m sure you’ve heard it all before, but you never really had a doubt I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now
And all the roads we have to walk are winding And all the lights that lead us there are blinding There are many things that I would like to say to you, but I don’t know how
Because maybe You’re gonna be the one that saves me And after all You’re my wonderwall
Today was gonna be the day, but they’ll never throw it back to you And by now, you should’ve somehow realised what you’re not to do I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now
And all the roads that lead you there were winding And all the lights that light the way are blinding There are many things that I would like to say to you, but I don’t know how
I said maybe You’re gonna be the one that saves me And after all You’re my wonderwall
I said maybe (I said maybe) You’re gonna be the one that saves me And after all You’re my wonderwall
I said maybe (I said maybe) You’re gonna be the one that saves me (saves me) You’re gonna be the one that saves me (saves me) You’re gonna be the one that saves me (saves me)
Off Irish folk band The Chieftains new album ‘Voice of Ages’. Out on February 21 on Hear Music/Concord Lyrics:
Lyrics
Down in the Willow garden Where me and my love did meet As we sat a-courtin’ My love fell off to sleep I had a bottle of Burgundy wine My love she did not know So I poisoned that dear little girl On the banks below
I drew a saber through her It was a bloody knife I threw her in the river Which was a dreadful sign My father often told me That money would set me free If I would murder that dear little girl Whose name was Rose Connolly
My father sits at his cabin door Wiping his tear-dimmed eyes For his only son soon shall walk To yonder scaffold high My race is run, beneath the sun The scaffold now waits for me For I did murder that dear little girl Whose name was Rose Connolly
Hide your horses, hold your tongue Hang the rich and spare the young Who drain the spirits from the jars Hop the fences, steal the cars Run on fumes and from the north And burn for us right through the fall
All the ladies call your name Brush your hair like it could be tamed Hitch their dresses past the knees Spilling to the floor like ease They swing the bridges one and more And burn for us right through the fall
All our running ahead, all our running ahead All our running ahead
And we’ll seize the captain’s wheel A mutiny we’ve come to feel When [?] their aiming’s gone from view With everything we thought to do Oh, the devil won’t have me I wonder who will, I wonder who will All our running is a crawl And burns for us right through the fall
All our running ahead, all our running ahead All our running ahead All our running, all our running All our running, all our running
On Raglan Road on an autumn day I saw her first and knew That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue; I saw the danger, yet I passed along the enchanted way, And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.
On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion’s pledge, The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay Oh I loved too much and by such by such is happiness thrown away.
I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that’s known To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone And word and tint without stint for I gave her poems to say. With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May
On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow That I had loved not as I should a creature made of clay When the angel woos the clay he’d lose his wings at the dawn of day.Source: Musixmatch