My Love Shes In America

Cigarettes in the morning Walking hallways of this strange empty home Cold whiskey in the evening Every day now she’s gone. Connemara’s on the bus route to Behan It’s seven days since the last cow died And when the barley’s gone and three lost women Like the girls and boys in Rome used to cry. Just give me cornbread in the morning so early For you took my rags in the fold of your hand And before you fall just like a feather and linen Make sure you’ve taken off that black velvet band. They say that roving’s like a candle at midnight And some take it like the trot of a mule But when the road is blind and your own tender lady You’d take a match to find a firelit fool. How come the way’s not like stairs in a castle With crimson pictures there to guide you along A gilded bottle with a few draughts inside it Makes the lights in the rafters look so strong. When your true love’s gone to run like an engine After nine young women with no faces their own And in America she spins like a dancer With barrel straps and some shoes made of stone. I’d guess the porches there are all clouded over And pipes and fiddles might could use some repair And all the horses have been broken in stables And golden fleeces could be worse for the wear. But if you ever come to Clifden by sunset Just before the Autumn rains touch the shore To stroll along Cleggan’s grey-hooded harbor Cutting hard like the blade of an oar. You take yourself to a hill past the pierline To find a cabin of whiskey and milk Where St. Coleman used to ply to his master Like colored linen and mulberry silk. Cigarettes in the morning Walking hallways of this strange empty home Cold whiskey in the evening Every day now she’s gone.