| Mary’s eyes are startling blue
 | 
| And her hair’s Newcastle gold
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| And she walks the thin white line
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| Between the body and the soul
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| She’s as faithful to her history
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| As a novice to his fast
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| For she is standing on the bones
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| Of Ireland’s past
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| She is singing of the troubles
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| And a fire in the land
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| 'til I can almost feel the famine
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| Slipping through my trembling hand
 | 
| And I wonder as I hear her
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| That the spirit still shines through
 | 
| And she can reach across the ocean deep
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| And break my heart in two
 | 
| Mary’s wise as she is foolish
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| She’s as constant as the tide
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| For it’s a woman’s heart that beats beneath
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| That stubborn Irish pride
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| We are saints and we are sinners
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| We are heroes we are thieves
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| We are all of us beginners
 | 
| On the road to Galilee
 | 
| She is singing of the troubles
 | 
| And a fire in the land
 | 
| 'til I can almost feel the famine
 | 
| Slipping through my trembling hand
 | 
| And I wonder as I hear her
 | 
| That the spirit still shines through
 | 
| And she can reach across the ocean deep
 | 
| And break my heart in two
 | 
| So let us hoist a pint of silence
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| To the east where Ireland lies
 | 
| And we’ll stare across the waters
 | 
| For a glimpse of Mary’s eyes
 | 
| We are ships without a harbour
 | 
| We are sailors on dry land
 | 
| And the song goes on forever
 | 
| Even though the record can’t
 | 
| She is singing of the troubles
 | 
| And a fire in the land
 | 
| 'til I can almost feel the famine
 | 
| Slipping through my trembling hand
 | 
| And I wonder as I hear her
 | 
| That the spirit still shines through
 | 
| And she can reach across the ocean deep
 | 
| And break my heart in two |