Karan Casey
Town of Athlone
In the town of Athlone there's a young woman walkingAnd wrapped 'round her baby a shawl as she speaksOf the passing of rings to the uniformed soldiersThe price of a ribbon their fortune to speakAh their fortune she speaks and she speaks of a riverWhose silvery barrows and moorlands beneathWhere a gun battle raged and the hero for IrelandSoon would lie down dead, dead at her feetAt the feet of the virgin in the grotto of AnnahShe sings to her baby in old styles bequeathAs she lilts and laments and enchants all in hearingWith songs of her people and melodies sweetSweet silvery Nore river is rollingOver an Irish soldier's graveAnd the vestry bells are tollingOver the ashes of his graveIn the freeborn land of the traveling peopleLies Nioclas Mullins the pride of CullbawnYet unmarked beside him the bride of his unionWho carried our music in a black gypsy shawlSweet silvery Nore river is rollingOver an Irish soldier's graveAnd the vestry bells are tollingOver the ashes of his grave
Aus Songtexte Mania