Lyrics The Arabic - John Doyle

The Arabic

In the stony grey soil through hardship and toil,
Roscommon’s rough lands they owned me.
Digging potatoes and ploughing the earth,
As my family did long before me.
But I swore I would furrow, plant my own seed,
Rise from my knees and stand proudly.
America, I swore, or some foreign shore,
Would grant the life I dream of surely.
So I saved up the money, my passage to pay,
And braved the world early one morning.
I bid adieu to my family among grief and tears,
As they feared there was no returning.
On the White Star Line I’d soon sail away,
Although the Great War was still raging.
I walked the long days, to Queenstown made way,
Till the Arabic it loomed far above me.
Who knows what fate brings, what life has in store?
We peer through a looking glass dimly.
As I stepped on board, and steerage went toward,
Below decks a dread chill spread o’er me.
At last we weighed anchor, ploughed o’er the main,
The last hint of land dimming slowly.
We zigzagged our course for fear of the worst,
And the worst ploughed its course far below me.
U24, the scourge of the sea,
Spied us and soon they made ready.
Torpedoes were loosed, our ship was reduced
To a watery grave sinking steadily.
The lifeboats were cast, the men entered last,
But there was too few for so many.
I jumped in the sea as a blast wounded me,
And the blood it ran thick and freely
In fear and confusion, thrashing around,
Dreading the abyss fast approaching.
Spying a lifeboat, I swam to its side,
But they beat me with oars for encroaching.
But a lady on board took pity on me,
As I stole my last breath and was sinking.
Grabbing my arm to keep me from harm,
She held me and saved me from drowning.
We got back on shore, safe and secure.
They led us all to the infirmary.
Three month I spent there, wondering why I was spared.
Among all, why was I given mercy?
Some live and some die, there’s no reason why.
The spinners weave their webs in mystery.
Now I’m back on my land, fate lends a hand,
As the roots of Roscommon weave around me.