| If you could fill a vale with shells from Killiney’s shore
|
| And sweet talk in a tongue that is no more
|
| And if wishful thoughts could bridge The Gulf of Araby
|
| Between what is, what is, what is
|
| And what can never be
|
| If you could hold the frozen flow of New Hope Creek
|
| And hide out from the one they said you might meet
|
| And if you could unlearn all the words
|
| That you never wanted heard
|
| If you could stall the southern wind
|
| That’s whistling in your ears
|
| You could take what is, what is, what is
|
| To what can never be
|
| One man of seventy whispers free at last
|
| Two neighbors who are proud of their massacres
|
| Three tyrants torn away in a winter’s month
|
| Four prisoners framed by a dirty judge
|
| Five burned with tyres
|
| Six men still inside
|
| And seven more days to shake at the great divide
|
| (X2) The Gulf, the Gulf of Araby
|
| Well, we would plough and part the earth to bring you home
|
| And harvest every miracle ever known
|
| And if they laid out all the things
|
| That these ten years were to bring
|
| We would gladly give them up
|
| To bring you back to us
|
| O, there is nothing we would not give
|
| To kiss you and to believe we could take what is, what is, what is
|
| To what can never be
|
| One man of seventy whispers not free yet
|
| Two neighbors who make up knee-deep in their dead
|
| Three tyrants torn away in the summer’s heat
|
| Four prisoners lost in the fallacy
|
| Five, on my life
|
| And six, I’m dead inside
|
| And seven more days to shake at the great divide
|
| (X2) The Gulf, the Gulf of Araby |