1. |
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2. |
Sweet Afton
04:50
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3. |
The Boys Of Mullaghbawn
05:05
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4. |
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The Lough Neagh Boat Song
When I’ve done the work of day and I row my boat away,
Down the waters of Lough Neagh as the evening light is fading,
And I look towards Ardboe where the afterglories glow
And I dream on two bright eyes and a merry mouth below.
She’s my beautiful cailín rua. She’s my joy and sorrow too.
And although she’s untrue, still I cannot live without her.
And my heart’s a boat in tow and I’d give the world to know.
If she means to let me go while the moon hangs bright and low.
Cailín rua, your lovely hair has more beauty I declare
More than all the tresses there from Toome Town to Coney Island.
Be they lint-white, gold or brown, be they blacker than the sloe.
They are worth no more to me than the melting flake of snow.
And her smile is like the gleam of the sunrise on the stream
And the songs the wild birds sing are like songs she sings when milking.
But my heart is full of woe, for last night she bade me go.
And the tears begin to flow while the moon hangs bright and low.
She’s my beautiful cailín rua. She’s my joy and sorrow too.
And although she’s untrue, still I cannot live without her.
And my heart’s a boat in tow and I’d give the world to know.
If she means to let me go while the moon hangs bright and low.
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5. |
Whiskey in the Jar
04:07
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6. |
Comrades in the Dark
04:05
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Comrades in the Dark
There came a splendid, golden sun across the darkened sky,
It woke the bondman from his dream as it fell upon his eyes.
It lit the way of freedom’s path, sent forth a singing lark
And bore a weeping blossom upon the flowers in the dark.
These flowers grew by lane and town in freedom’s fragrant scent,
Bringing heart to weary folk when dark days came and went.
And they grew strong and beautiful ‘midst fortunes cold and stark.
The fairest flowers of their kind these roses in the dark.
The winds of war came sweeping cruel, the flower would not cry,
And how it broke the free man’s heart to see the first rose die.
Some soldier plucked the garden’s joy and left a burning mark,
Upon the silver petalled bloom now fettered in the dark.
These flowers weep in damp cold cells, no sun to light the gloom
And suffer nature’s vilest scorn, to wither in their bloom.
But ne’er they yield these lovely things, oh hear they freedom’s mark,
They are the light to guide the poor these flowers in the dark.
I care not should we free men die to see the garden flower
And humble bluebells lift their heads to rise in all their power.
I hold a tear torn sore in heart, Oh, just like Joan of Arc,
Each one of these saintly flowers is dungeoned in the dark.
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7. |
Lough Erne Shore
04:33
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8. |
The Flower of Magherally
04:37
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9. |
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The Ballad of King George
Saw you play through the streets of Belfast to the ‘Theatre of Dreams’,
Then you ran round the green fields of England so wild and so free.
And they all want to know how it is you can do what you do
And I’m starting to think with a wink you can make the earth move.
It’s so hard to hide when everyone’s pointing at you,
So you duck and you dive, throw a shape and you tear away through.
Watch children at play and they’ll all say that they want to be you,
There’s no show without Punch ‘til he’s drunk and the crowd bay for somebody new.
Everyone thinks you’re something,
King of the old 3 O’Clock.
They sang your name in the rain and you smiled and looked up.
Everyone thinks you’re something,
From the line to the box.
But it’s hard to keep up when you fall down a lot.
Well it’s so hard to try and think straight when you’re playing out of tune.
And the heads you once turned look away when you walk in the room.
But the trails that you blazed still amaze us and everyone swoons
And the best of the rest and the 10 from Brazil says there’s you, only you.
Everyone thinks you’re something,
King of the old 3 O’Clock.
They sang your name in the rain and you smiled and looked up.
Everyone thinks you’re something,
From the line to the box.
But it’s hard to keep up when you fall down a lot.
Everyone thinks that you’re something.
Everyone thinks that you’re something.
Everyone thinks that you’re something good.
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10. |
The Parting Glass
03:35
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Dylan Pearse Crossmaglen, UK
“No attention is begged and no retinue sought after. I love to sing, so I just sing!”
This is what Dylan
Pearse does. He sings with a sincere and powerful voice. The well of influence is deep and spans a slew of differing genres with Nick Drake, Frank Harte and Anne Briggs cited among those he holds in high regard.
... more
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