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The Walls
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Romantic Ireland's Dead and Gone
cars cruise by, they're being watched
curtains twitch, a neighbour winds his clock
the old men with their health
stand outside and watch the world revolve
around their neighbourhood
it's understood that everything must change
no matter where you're stood
in hollywood or on some dull estate
down at the local bar a jaguar is pulling up outside
inside the musty smell of the clientele
no incense can hide
enter the auctioneer, a pioneer,
a walking bunch of keys
he's on the money trail sniffing around
for a bargain or a steal
it's all about the deal
Romantic Ireland's dead and gone
the gombeen sold her for a song
is it too late to right a wrong?
i hate to lose her
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they build them quick these days,
apartment space would suit 3 or 4
the walls are paper thin, when in my bed
I can hear my neighbour snore
he dreams of finding pearls and dancing girls
and a fuller head of hair
little does he know, behind the door
there's a woman crying there
a woman is crying….
…Romantic Ireland's dead and gone
The gombeen sold her for a song
Is it too late to right a wrong?
I hate to lose her
Romantic Ireland's in the grave
All that's left is up for sale
greasy fingers ply their trade
money screwed her
she's dead and gone
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