| Mary’s eyes are startling blue
|
| And her hair’s Newcastle gold
|
| 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
|
| And a fire in the land
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| 'til I can almost feel the famine
|
| 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
|
| And break my heart in two
|
| Mary’s wise as she is foolish
|
| She’s as constant as the tide
|
| 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
|
| 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
|
| 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 |