Pouring into the nosing glass, raising it
high.
Let the brown, tender liquid reflect
the smooth light.
Observing the fluid drawing reams -
stretched laws of gravity along the
glasses seam.
And I close my eyes in remembrance
of you,
your meadows and moorlands, your
cliffs - and your Stew.
I sink into the taste of this strange kind of
lifeblood,
the remains of impressions surge in
in a high flood.
Overwhelmed by nostalgia I put the glass down again
to take a closer look at what it contains.
I gotta return before summer is over
... Whiskey makes me sober...
Demanding relief in a dance and a
song
hoping to get the homesickness a little less strong.
That place’s caught my heart, although it’s far from my “home”
providing my soul a new pilgrims' dome.
A place to stay and to flee from
despair.
As I dream away into Irish affairs,
I am thinking back, thinking it over and over -
....Whiskey makes me sober...
Solo
To the sinners I count, to Saint Patrick I
pray
that he’ll get me back to Ireland one day
yes, I gotta return before the next flask is over
... Whiskey makes me sober...