Once upon a time there was Irish ways and Irish laws
Villages of Irish blood waking to the morning
Waking to the morning

Then the Vikings came around, turned us up and turned us down
Started building boats and towns, they tried to change our living
They tried to change our living

Cromwell and the soldiers came, started centuries of shame
But they could not make us turn, we are a river flowing
We’re a river flowing

Again, again the soldiers came, burnt our houses, stole our grain
Shot the farmers in their fields working for a living
They were working for a living

Eight hundred years we have been down, the secret of the water sound
Has kept the spirit of a man above the pain descending
Above the pain descending

Today the struggle carries on, I wonder will I live so long
To see the gates being opened up to a people and their freedom
A people and their freedom

Once upon a time there was Irish ways and Irish laws
Villages of Irish blood waking to the morning
Waking to the morning

I remember that summer in Dublin,
And the Liffey as it stank like hell,
And young people walking down Grafton Street,
Everyone looking so well.
I was singing a song I heard somewhere,
Called “Rock’n'Roll Never Forgets”,
When my humming was smothered by the 46A,
And the scream of a low flying jet.
So, I jumped on a bus to Dun Laoghaire,
Stopping off to pick up my guitar,
When a drunk on a bus told me how to get rich,
I was glad we weren’t going too far.

(From the song Summer in Dublin)

Don’t grieve for me, for now I’m free!
I follow the plan God laid for me.
I saw His face, I heard His call,
I took His hand and left it all…
I could not stay another day,
To love, to laugh, to work or play;
Tasks left undone must stay that way.
And if my parting has left a void,
Then fill it with remembered joy.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss…
Ah yes, these things I, too, shall miss.
My life’s been full, I’ve savoured much:
Good times, good friends, a loved-one’s touch.
Perhaps my time seemed all too brief—
Don’t shorten yours with undue grief.
Be not burdened with tears of sorrow,
Enjoy the sunshine of the morrow.

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there… I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow…
I am the diamond glints on snow…
I am the sunlight on ripened grain…
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you waken in the morning’s hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of gentle birds in circling flight…
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry—
I am not there… I did not die…

Als Gott die Zeit machte, hat er genug davon gemacht.

Gott schenkt Dir das Gesicht, lächeln musst Du selber.

Freunde sind Gottes Entschuldigung für Verwandte.

Dort wo man nur gut von dir spricht, darfst du nicht zu oft hingehen.

Willst du gescholten werden: heirate! Willst du gelobt werden: stirb!

The Irish have an abinding sense of tragedy

which sustains them through temporary periods of joy.

They are not afraid of colors.

Sure, a little bit o’ Heaven fell from out of the sky one day,
And nestled on the ocean in a spot so far away;
And the angels found it, sure it looked so sweet and fair.
They said suppose we leave it, for it looks so peaceful there!
So they sprinkled it with star dust just to make the SHAMROCKs grow;
‘Tis the only place you’ll find them,
No matter where you go;
Then they dotted it with silver
To make its lakes so grand,
And when they had it finished
Sure they called it I R E L A N D!