| I heard an angry voice behind a drystone wall
|
| At a beauty spot on out by Carron;
|
| «Go on, Get back to Dublin
|
| You hippies don’t belong here
|
| Traipsin' round the Burren
|
| Never spendin' very long here. |
| «And the only thing
|
| That I could think to say was;
|
| We all belong here
|
| This is our native shore
|
| While I’m here I’d love to sing
|
| A song in praise of Mullaghmore
|
| I took a rocky road up Croagh Patrick
|
| And a mossy path up Sliabh Gallion Braes
|
| And I plunged in the deep at Brandon Creek
|
| And slept in a glade beyond Dn Maebh
|
| All alone along the Wicklow Way
|
| Peace and solitude I found
|
| When I reached the slopes of Mullaghmore
|
| I could have sworn that was the holy ground
|
| Minister, minister
|
| Pause for reflection
|
| As you fly by helicopter
|
| In pursuit of re-election
|
| An obsession with affairs of State
|
| And legislature
|
| Leaves little time for us to share
|
| In the miracles of Nature
|
| Like the fairy foxglove
|
| And the rusty-back fern at Poll Na Gollum
|
| The silver cranesbill
|
| And columbine at Caher Connell
|
| The juniper at Bellharbour
|
| The wintergreen around Slaibh Carron
|
| These miracles of nature
|
| Surviving in the crevices of the Burren
|
| There’s gonna be sewerage schemes
|
| And septic tanks, tarmac and concrete mixers
|
| And rumours circling Co. Clare
|
| Promising lots of nixers*
|
| And car parks to be levelled
|
| Infills and elevations
|
| And when the dust is settled
|
| A handful of jobs and relations
|
| Nature took two million years
|
| To sculpture Mullaghmore
|
| Carved from the ancient rock
|
| By the freezing ice and snow
|
| As the sun shines down on the mountain
|
| At the broad Atlantic ocean
|
| You can hear the small birds singing
|
| On the Burren round Mullaghmore |