Another Night on Earth (© Gärtner 1998)

It was, of course, a miserable love, the happy love is hardly worth your while ...

Bm             D
Another day, another song
G                         F#m
About a love that should never come
Bm               D
Another night, another cloud
G                    F#m                   Bm  D  G  F#m
There is absolutely nothing to be happy about

Another singer, another song
About something that went wrong
Another tear that was shed
Another night in a lonely bed

     G         A            D                         Bm
And this is a song about a night like it never should be
     G         A            Bm
And this is a song just for me
     G         A            D                         Bm
And this is a song about a night like it never should be
     G         A            Bm   A
And this is a song just for me

Another feeling that fell to the ground
A skyscraper built upon a cloud
Another home for the broken minded
Another picture that has slided away

Another thought filling my head
Another word filling the paper
That I don't even want to think
That I never ever wanted to sing

And this is a song about a night like it never should be ...

Black Sheep (© Gärtner 1990s)

Man könnte manchmal vermuten, ,Brehm's Tierleben' sei eine Quelle unserer Inspiration. Früher war Irland das klassische Auswandererland, mittlerweile werden osteuropäische Arbeitskräfte bei der Ernte eingesetzt und Bauarbeitertrupps aus britischen Städten eingeflogen. Dennoch - trotz oder wegen des Wirtschaftsbooms - leben 16% der irischen Bevölkerung an der Armutsgrenze, 23% werden als "functionally illiterate" eingestuft und es gibt (im Verhältnis) weniger Ärzte als in Aserbaidschan. Irland war eigentlich nicht intendiert, als dieses Lied geschrieben wurde. Doch wie heisst es über den ,postkatholischen keltischen Tiger' (tigris hibernicus oeconomicus): "The average Irish city centre pub now looks like a Budapest café trying to imitate an Irish pub. In the southern suburbs you will see more hard-faced, dyed blondes in jeeps than in the middle-class ghettoes of South American capitals. The schoolgirls seem to be speaking a foreign language, in which tortured Home Counties vowels struggled to reach an accommodation with turns of phrase derived from Australian soaps. Everywhere visible, on the one hand, is a burgeoning underclass racked by drugs, gangsterism and poverty, and on the other, spectacular wealth, vulgarity and indifference. Few peoples have relied on the kindness of strangers as much as the Irish, but we are not covering ourselves in glory in our treatment of economic immigrants. There may be some truth in the post-colonial model of Irish society. The abused becomes the abuser. A hysterically positivist, feel-good tone is now so characteristic of Irish life. There is a sort of underlying belief that despite all the glaring inequalities and inadequacies, if we keep saying we are a great wee country, we will become one. The media overkill surrounding pop bands such as U2 and Boyzone is not for their artistic achievements, but for their financial ones. In the New Ireland, money is the morality, the spirituality, the Mecca. What is clear is that no amount of new cars and designer suits will fill the moral vacuum at the centre of Irish society. James Joyce once wrote: We cannot change the country: let us change the subject. However, he never came back." (Michael O'Loughlin) Yuppie-yi-oh!

 G                 D          C           G     F
Every time I look out, I can see a megalomanic world
 G                 D      C                 G
Every time I look out, I see Mother Earth choke in dirt
     G                  D               C           G      F
The money-mania drives people more and more insane day by day
   G                     D            C        G
I wouldn't jump on that dead-end train in any way

  G                          C                      F              G
I'm a black sheep wouldn't join in your self-made fate no not at all
 G                        C                 F               G
I'm a black sheep and if you eat money you won't grow very tall

Every day a new catastrophee, the world breaks down in decay
Every day a new scandal exposed, it's hard to believe any word you say
Sometimes I feel like I can't stand this chaos for another day
Oh GOd, do make them think, these are the words I pray

I'm a black sheep ...

 A  D  G  A
I'm a black sheep
Eat no money
I'm a black__ sheep
Eat no money

I'm a black sheep wouldn't join in your self-made fate no not at all
 A!                       D_                G . . . . .             A
I'm a black sheep and if you eat money you won't grow    -  fat at all!

Bonjour, Jule (© Walkin' Tom 2017)

    C      G      F      C
Bonjour, Jule! Jule, bonjour!

      F                   C               G
It's half past six, I'm struggling to my feet

     F       G       C       F
At crack of dawn, I hit the road

    F      C       G
Bonjour, Jule, bonjour!
    F        G        C
Bonjour, my love, bonjour!

I'm leaving though it's hard to say Adieu
I'll think of you all bloody day 

I roam the streets all year from nine to five
Until the rain turns into snow

It's almost noon, I'm desperate for a break
I'm bored to tears without you, babe

I'm coming home when evening crowns the day
There is a light on every tree

Call me a fool, I always have to go
Every goodbye is a hello

The Chesapeake Waltz (© Walkin' Tom 2004/2008)

     D            G          D           A
The full moon is mocking on the village green
The curtainless windows are light and obscene
Each night that I wander to the desolate quay
        D          G         D
As the music calls over the bay

        G            A 
And we dance and we dance 
         D         G
To the Chesapeake waltz
      D             A         G           A
Your eyes like the ocean, mysterious and wide
And we dance and we dance 
To the Chesapeake waltz
   D             A       D
Across the big ocean we ride

I came to this country my fortune to make
Vast money to bring in and each chance to take
I don't miss them culchies, 
Them tinkers, them screws
But I never ceased thinking of you

I'm lost to the bottle and my fond memories
While the river is sweeping 
My dreams to the sea
No message to tell you the way that I feel
Just the moon and the music is real

Chinese Whispers (© Walkin' Tom 2000)

Wie so viele Iren in den vergangenen dreihundert Jahren, suchen immer noch Menschen Zuflucht vor Hunger und Verfolgung - dieser Tage in Irland selbst. Und wie so viele Iren zuvor treffen sie auf Rassismus und eine gleichgültige Regierung. Es muss eine Milliarde irische Auswandererlieder geben, Zeit für das erste Einwandererlied. Der Gelbe Tiger trifft seinen keltischen Cousin! Das Intro beruht auf dem traditionellen Emigrantenlied ,Spancil Hill' von Michael Considine (1850-73) sowie textlichen Anleihen aus anderen Balladen. Der Rest ist eine Meditation darüber, was Shane MacGowan (*1957) aus dem Thema gemacht hätte und ins Mollige gebracht, um es interessanter zu gestalten.

   d             C          C         B    d
As I went out a-walking on Ballsbridge Avenue
   d                            F            C
I spied a handsome maiden, her hair a raven hue
   d                                   F              C
Before that she was done with me, she had me raving, too
         d              C               C      B         d
Her Emerald eyes were smiling as she whispered: "I love you" 

 d              B
Take-aways in Chinatown
 F                 C
Broken chopsticks handed down
 d                B
Old hags smoking with a frown
      F       C        d
And drinking tea from China
 d              B
Fireworks and gooselike bores
 F                C
Fortune cookies, randy whores
 d             B
Fu Manchu and opium wars
     F        C           d
And all the grieves from China

   F              B
A billion people botherin' me
    F               C
My head it needs a rest
     F               B
For one I'd run ten thousand li
     F        C       d
The girl that I love best

Resting Buddhas, silken tweed
Bamboo shoots and dragon teeth
Round-eyed girls with tied-up feet
Those fairytales of China
Sun Yat-sen and Chang Kai-shek
Tiananmen and commie threat
Bloody slaughter in Tibet
Heavenly peace in China

A billion people ...
NOTES: Dr. FU MANCHU is a sinister character in Hollywood B-Movies; the "yellow peril" incarnated in one man. - When the Chinese adopted prohibitory laws against the opium trade, the staple British import into China, the British retaliated with a punitive expedition, known as the OPIUM WAR (1839-42). - 1 LI is about 500 metres. The Great Chinese Wall, the only man-made construction visible from space, is also known as "The Wall of 10,000 Li". - SUN YAT-SEN (1866-1925) was head of state after the Qing dynasty fell in 1911, CHANG KAI-SHEK (1887-1975) his successor from 1928-50. - TIANANMEN, the "Square of Heavenly Peace", was the scene of the student protests in Beijing in 1989.

Colum's Song (© Columban/Walkin' Tom 610/2001)

Der Missionar Columban reiste zu Beginn des 7. Jahrhunderts den Rhein hinauf. Colum ist der erste, uns bekannte Ire auf deutschem Boden und das lateinische "Heia Viri", den Rhythmus des Bootes aufnehmend, das älteste Lied über den Fluß. Hier ist unsere Version.

The Irish missionary and saint Columban was born about 543 in Leinster. After trying everything the world has to offer, he decided to take up the monastic life: "His fine figure, his splendid color, and his noble manliness made him beloved by all. And the old enemy aroused against him the lust of lascivious maidens, especially of those whose fine figure and superficial beauty are wont to enkindle mad desires in the minds of wretched men." In 590 he set off to Europe at the invitation of the king of Burgundy. But after criticizing the lax morals of the court, Columban was forced to leave. Travelling from Maguntiacum (Mainz) to Brigantia (Bregenz), Columban became the first Irishman known to have visited Germany and the earliest recorded song set in the River Rhine emerged from the rhythm of the speeding boat. "Columban decided to remain, in order to spread the faith among the people, who were Swabians. Once as he was going through this country, he discovered that the natives were going to make a heathen offering. They had a large cask that they called a cupa, and that held about twenty-six measures, filled with beer and set in their midst. On Columban's asking what they intended to do with it, they answered that they were making an offering to their God Wodan. When he heard of this abomination, he breathed on the cask, and lo! it broke with a crash and fell in pieces so that all the beer ran out." What a pity! The Swiss, however, were stubborn pagans (and strong beer drinkers) and Columban soon left unsuccessfully. He and his disciples founded about hundred monasteries throughout Europe, known for the strictness of their rules and their emphasis on corporal punishment. Columban died in 615 at Bobbio in Lombardy. His feast day is held on 23 November.
The Irish vocal group Anuna recorded the Latin original of Columban's song ("Heia Viri"). We rewrote the English translation and put it to a more contemporary tune. Do you hear the boat rowing up the river?

In silvis caesa, fluctu meat acta carina
Bicornis Rheni et pelagus perlabitur uncta.
Heia viri! nostrum reboans echo sonet heia ...

Em          C                 D                Em
Cut in the forests, swept down the two-horned Rhine
     C                     G              D
Our keel, tight-caulked, floats upon the sea
Em               C             D                Em
The wild gusts swell and the slashing torrents fall
     C                G            D
But human strength defeats our agony

 C   D           G       Em
Hey! Ho! Up the river we go!
         C        G               D
Let the echoes resound with your cry!
 C   D     G     Em
Hey! Ho! Away we go!
          C             D           Em
Let your souls, men, remembering Christ!
Cry hey-o!

To earnest effort, clouds and tempest yield
Firm faith and dauntless will is heaven sent
Endure and save yourselves for better things
0h you've suffered worse, but this shall end

Hey! Ho! Up the river we go ...

So when wildest temptation assaults our hearts
Exhausting and shaking our souls
In resolution fixed, we scorn Satan's wiles
By virtues armed, we conquer all foes

Hey! Ho! Up the river we go ...

Nunc scripsi totum pro Christo, da mihi potum!

Cutthroat, Barley and Jones (When the Winds Refuse to Blow) (© Walkin' Tom 2003/2006)

Ein Lied über die Zeit, als "Aida" noch der Name ener Oper wa und Schiffe Segel und Masten hatten. Aber es war eine eintönige Reise: Kein Sturm, kein Strudel, der Käpt'n stocknüchtern und kein einziger Halsabschneider an Bord.

         D           G   D        G
Let her go, let her go, row boys row
     D                  Bm            G                A
No thunder strikes from up above, no maelstrom down below
          D             G               D       G
We would sail east and west, north and south also
                D               Bm           A         D
[But] When the winds refuse to blow is there no way to go
          D               Bm           A         D F#m
When the winds refuse to blow is there no way to go

       Bm                              D
We’re praying for a rising breeze the 1st thing in the morning
     G             D               A  
To shove into the topsails and to carry us away
           G            D              A                 D
From this hour of desperation to the place that we were born in
Far away, so far away

I’m standing on the quarter deck, now bring me that horizon
The crew’s completely sober and the captain’s not to blame
There’s not a single cutthroat bound in shackles and in iron
What a shame, aye, what a shame

The pride of the King’s Navy is a fool’s business to conquer
Then, guns and drums make hardy oarsmen at snail’s pace to go
So hundred sacks of barley went to Davy Jones’s locker
Down below, far down below

Duck's Island Grave (© Walkin' Tom 2004)

10. September 2004: Das Fischerboot "Saint Oliver" sinkt vor Duck's Island an der Küste von Galway. Die Fischer Josie Connolly, John Dirrane, Michael "Sonny" Faherty und Michael Mullin ertrinken. R.I.P.

"Tragedy at sea: Shock and despair prevailed throughout west Galway over the last number of days following the death of four fishermen in a drowning tragedy on Friday night. The four men were Josie Connolly, Michael ‘Sonny’ Faherty, John Dirrane and Michael Mullin. They had been on board the Saint Oliver, which was wrecked at Duck Island, a mile off the coast near Carna at around 10pm on Friday. The crew were very experienced and had decided to put out to sea despite poor weather conditions to take advantage of Spring tides. The remains of three of the men were recovered on Saturday but at the time of writing the body of John Dirrane has not been found. Searches are continuing along a 40-mile section of the coastline from Rossaveal to Roundstone." (Galway Independent, 15 Sep 2004)

We're travellin' around Connemara
It's sheltered and warm in the car
A strong gale force blows across Galway Bay
So we give up the cruise on that day

           G          D            G
And we're talkin' of bytes and computers
      G            D           C
Trademark of this post-modern age
        G              D              C             G
But no help for those men that could not have been saved
        G            D              G
From a cold and wet Duck's Island Grave

There's two fishermen from the mainland
And another two from Inismore
Four men that refused a slow fact'ry death
For taking a deep salty breath

And we're talkin' of bytes and computers ...

Now the trawlers are back in the harbour
And we take the fish from the shelf
Four men that were drowned in the merciless sea
Four men will set off from the quay

And we're talkin' of bytes and computers ...

Josie Connolly, John Dirrane, Sonny Faherty, Michael Mullin

Farewell to Cahanclare (© Walkin' Tom/Trad 2002)

You won't find Cahanclare on any Ordonance Survey map, neither John O'Pliky's watering hole. Anyway, it's real. It's a state of mind. Parental advisory: This song contains explicit language!

The skies are blue, the meadows green, or so the story goes
The gents and ladies kindly and neat from head to toe
To tell the truth, a better place you will find anywhere
There are more ass- than bog-holes round the fields of Cahanclare

      D                    Bm                G          D
Now, fare thee well, stay happy, though I'm going far away
    D                    Bm               G           Em
No tears, no cryin', no hugging, and no `miss you any day'
     D               Bm                   G                 Em
Get off me back, and fix your neck, and quickly clear your glass
     D                 Bm               G               D
One last goodbye, fuck off and die, oh you can kiss me arse

Them blokes in John O'Pliky's bar, just hear 'em rant and roar 
They're playing the Wild Rover, I can't stand it never more
I wish I'd race with Finn MacCool across the bracken brown
Or hunt with Michael Dwyer the English and the lasses down

Now, fare thee well, stay happy ...

There's lakes down in Killarney, there's roses in Tralee
There's rain all day in Limerick Town and blight in Skibbereen
While Patrick preached the vermin to stay out everywhere
No saints and scholars ever found their way to Cahanclare

Now, fare thee well, stay happy ...

One last farewell, fuck off to hell, oh you can kiss me arse

Farewell to the Moy (© Walkin' Tom/Trad 2004)

Unsere Version des von der Gruppe Dervish bekanntgemachten Songs "Pheigin Mo Chroi" (Peggy, mein Herz). Zu den Hintergründen schweigt sich Tom aus.

     D                       G              D
Farewell to the Moy and the banks of Lough Cullin
            D                      G            A
Where the brown bogs of Mayo turn into bright green

D                  G         D
O - ho - ho - ho - ho - ay - o - ha
     G           D             A        D
Farewell to the Moy and sweet Peggy mawcree

Farewell to stout fellas and comely young maidens
The yarns of Old Reilly and Mairi's strong tea
O - ho - ho - ho - ho - ay - o - ha ...

Farewell to the dancers that's tripping the daisies
Farewell Fiddlin' Willie and Piper McGee
O - ho - ho - ho - ho - ay - o - ha ...

Farewell to St. Cuimin and Father O'Donnell
Him chasing young lovers along the boreens
O - ho - ho - ho - ho - ay - o - ha ...

Farewell to the redshanks and gallant Mac William
Their bones spread all o'er the fields of Ardnaree
O - ho - ho - ho - ho - ay - o - ha ...

Farewell to brave Humbert and them froggy sportsmen
At Castlebar Races both fail and succeed
O - ho - ho - ho - ho - ay - o - ha ...

Farewell to the Moy and her salmon-stocked waters
That run from Slieve Gamph down to Killala quay
O - ho - ho - ho - ho - ay - o - ha ...

Foxhunters (© Walkin' Tom/Trad. 2002)

A-capella-Lied über die Fucjshagd nach der Melodie des "Foxhunter's Jig". Der Slip-Jig is ein Teil des "Fox Chase", komponiert vom blinden Piper Edward Keating Hyland (1780-1845).

 D              G
Fox went out a-walkin'            Let the horns a-blowin'
 D              A                 Let the horns a-blowin'
Fox went out a-walkin'            Let the horns a-blowin'
 D              G                 Hey dee diddle dee dero
Fox went out a-walkin'
 D                  A
Hey dee diddle dee dero

Fox went out a-walkin'            Let the horns a-blowin'
Fox went out a-walkin'            Let the horns a-blowin'
Hounds began a-stalkin'           Keep the horses goin'
Hey dee diddle dee dero           Hey dee diddle dee dero

                Hi diddle dee diddle dee
                Di dee diddle dee dero
                D                         A
                Hi dee diddle dee diddle dee
                D                  A
                Di dee diddle dee dero

O'er the meadows flashin'         Horse and huntsman singin'
O'er the meadows flashin'         Horse and huntsman singin'
O'er the meadows flashin'         Horse and huntsman singin'
Hey dee diddle dee dero           Hey dee diddle dee dero
O'er the meadows flashin'         Horse and huntsman singin'
O'er the meadows flashin'         Horse and huntsman singin'
Into the wall a-crashin'          And the fox is grinnin'
Oogh... dee diddle dee dero       Hey dee diddle dee dero

Free and Easy (© Walkin' Tom; M: )

     Em         C            G             D
If I go to the market and I sell my last shirt
     Em             Am        C          D
For five shillings only to a mean money bird
      Em           C                G        D
If I drink all my silver and have whiskey galore
          Em           Am        C         Em
Then I'm free and I'm easy and what is it yours?

    C           Am              G          
I drink all my silver and have whiskey galore
        Em          Am         C         Em
Oh I'm free and I'm easy and what is it yours?

If I go to the fishing or hunting the hare
Plucking apples from bowers & songs from the air
If I lie in the meadows for an hour or more
Then I'm free and I'm easy and what is it yours?

If I go to a céilí for a dance of some sort
Do a jig with the lassies or some other sport
Old & young folks are merry & have fun in great scores
And we're free and we're easy and what is it yours?

People say I am useless and I'll never do well
No property, income, no hearthfire to dwell
But I don't mind a thing for to live in a cró
Cause I'm free and I'm easy and what is it yours?

A Giant's Cause (Poem) (© Walkin' Tom 2000)

From Amsterdam to Newcastle
From Cairnryan to Larne
There's rainy days and moonlit nights
I slept in fields and barns
I roamed through Belfast streets and saw
The Shankill and the Falls
I climbed on Earagail Mountain
And pissed from Derry Walls
I had a drink in Antrim Glens
I met a lass and paused
Now I write these lines from Bushmills Town
It is a Giant's cause!

Goodbye Shannon Airport (© Walkin' Tom 2009)

Homage to Shannon International Airport, when it was an important stopover for transatlantic flights to re-fuel. Shannon Airport introduced the duty free system and the Irish Coffee in the 1940s. At least, the latter is still with us.

       C           G             D          G
There once was a place - rocky, desert and bare
Far, far in the west in a county called Clare
There's not much to do here and not much to see
But them transatlantic clippers coming over the sea

          D                        C             G
   These days are all over, these days are long past
        G           C            D           G
   Goodbye Shannon Airport, goodbye here at last

Here's a toast to a hero, his tale untold and unsung
Blending the most precious thing for our tongues
One part coffee, one part malt, sugar and thick cream on top
Here's to you, Joseph Sheridan, the best of the crop

Every time before boarding we ransacked the shops
For spirits, perfume and cigarettes, but this also has stopped
Instead they gave us the euro, praise the great EEC
There's more duties now than ever, but there's no duty free

It's not that we miss all them Yanks here at all
But their nickels and dollars, not their booze and their brawl
Only when I lie awake in the doldrums of night
Humming aul Danny Boy just from time to time

Keadue Polka (© Walkin' Tom 2009/2021, M: John Ryan's Polka)

John-Jo, will ye dance to the Keadue Polka?
         D         A      D
Will ye dance the Keadue Polka?

De-ri-day with-me riddle-diddle-day
With-me riddle diddle de-he-ro
De-ri-day with-me riddle-diddle-day
With-me riddle-diddle de-ro

John-Jo, will ye kiss the parson’s daughter
Will ye kiss the parson’s daughter?

John-Jo, will ye have a pint of water
Will ye have a pint of water? Nah...

The Luck of the Irish (© Walkin' Tom 2020/2021)

The proverbial Luck of the Irish isn't luck at all, but an optimistic attitude in view of a dire situation. You don't survive famine, emigration, mistreatment etc. thinking you glass is half empty.... Thanks a million! See you soon! Take care! Go n-éirí an bóthar leat! May the road rise up to meet you...

         C        F      C
May the road rise up to meet you
          C        F            G
And your verses always find a rhyme
           C            F            C            G
May God's love and the luck of the Irish be with you
      C         G        C
Any place, any way, any time
NOTES: Tout le malheur des hommes vient d’une seule chose, qui est de ne pas savoir demeurer en repos dans une chambre. - Blaise Pascal, 1623-1662

Making Love Outside Aras an Uachtarain (© Durcan/Walkin' Tom 2000)

A different kind of rebel song - by Dublin poet Paul Durcan.

 D G D A D G A D   D D4 D2 D

     D        G      D           A
When I was a boy, meself and me girl
      D       G          A
Used bicycle up to the Phoenix Park
 D           G                D           A
Outside the gates we used to lie in the grass
        D           G        A     D 
Making love outside Aras an Uachtarain

Often I wondered what de Valera would have thought
Inside his ivory tower
If he knew that we were lying in his green grass
Making love outside Aras an Uachtarain

        D   G   D   A
Making love ...
        D   G   D   A
Making love ...
        D   G   D   A
Making love ...
        D           G        A     D 
Making love outside Aras an Uachtarain

The odd thing was, oh how odd it was
We both revered Irish patriots
We dreamed our dreams of a green flag
Making love outside Aras an Uachtarain

Making love ...

  Em    D  C

And even had our names been Diarmaid and Grainne
We doubted de Valera's approval
For a poet's son and a judge's daughter
Making love outside Aras an Uachtarain

I can see him now in the heat-haze of the day
Blindly stalking us down
Levelling an ancient rifle, I can hear him say:
"Stop making love outside Aras an Uachtarain!"

Making love ...

Marie Johanna (Die grüne Coerder Heide) (© Walkin' Tom/Trad 2001)

,GOtt läßt auf den Feldern heilkräftige Kräuter wachsen, die ein weiser Mann wohl verwenden soll.' (Jesus Sirach 38,4) - Was ist die deutsche Antwort auf das illegale Whiskey-Brennen? Nun, wir haben dieses Lied von unserer ,Magical Mystery Tour' durch Holland über die grüne Grenze geschmuggelt. Zur Belebung einer alten Tradition: Schließlich wurde schon keltischen und germanischen Gräbern Hanfsamen und Hanfstoffe beigegeben. Hanf war die heilige Pflanze der Liebesgöttin Freya. Karl der Große (742-814) erließ die erste Hanf-Gesetzgebung - er ordnete den Anbau an. Johannes Gutenberg (1397-1468) druckte die Bibel auf Hanfpapier. Martin Luther (1483-1546) nahm einen ,absud' gegen Bronchialbeschwerden. Und unsere Großväter rauchten unbekümmert und unbehelligt ihren ,Knaster'. Gestorben ist an ,GOttes wohlgefälligen Duft' (Salomon) jedenfalls noch niemand - es sei denn an dem Strick, der aus dem Hanf gedreht war.
Die grüne Coerder Heide kann überall sein. Vorschläge: Die Lüneburger Heide, die Magdeburger Börde, ...

    D                           G      D
Gestopft in der Pfeife und als Keks gekaut
     D                     G      D      A
Das Blatt, das Harz, die Blüte und das Kraut
 D                           G       D
Hocken wir zusammen bis der Morgen graut
          D                 A  D
Lass den Rauch aufsteigen, Ma-rie

Halt heut nacht die Augen auf
Die grünen Jungs, die sind schlecht drauf
Sie suchen uns Emsab, Emsauf
In der grünen Coerder Heide

Gestopft in der Pfeife ...

Ein Gramm für Kai, ein Gramm für Tom
Selbst Gisela kennt kein Pardon
Katrin und Erik träumen von
Der grünen Coerder Heide

Gestopft in der Pfeife ...

Dreh dich nach links, dreh dich nach rechts
Die Sterne drehn sich auch nicht schlecht
Wem sich nichts dreht, der hat halt Pech
In der grünen Coerder Heide

Gestopft in der Pfeife ...

Highliger Hanf, was rätst du mir
Die Soko klopft schon an die Tür
Bei uns gibt's weder Schnaps noch Bier
In der grünen Coerder Heide

Doch Highliger Hanf, es ist zu spät
Der Richter nimmt uns ins Gebet
Wasser und Brot gibt's als Diät
In der grünen Coerder Heide

Gestopft in der Pfeife ...

Lass den Rauch aufsteigen - Marie Johanna

T:Hills of Connemara
"D"DDFF A2A2|"G"B2B2 "D"A2F2|"D"DDFF A2A2|"G"G2F2 "A"E2C2|
"D"DDFF A2A2|"G"B2B2 "D"A2FE|"D"D2d2 A2F2|"A"E4 "D"D4|

The Meeting of the Waters (© Walkin' Tom 2001)

Is Billy Boy a loyalist hero or a condom brand? Boyne Waters a battlefield or a mineral water? Guinness a republican politician or a black Irish soft drink? It's up to you!

Dm                      F    C     B        C       Dm
 The Lagan stream lies silent and Belfast Lough in peace
Dm                   F     C                 B      C   Dm
 We climb on top to McArt's Fort to take an oath of unity
F                           C         F     B      F         C
 The harp's new strung and shall be heard again across the fields
Dm                 F         C          B         C          Dm
 It is a giant's cause, my friends, to put down swords and shields

Our marching boots are put aside and we're heading for the bars
Where lambeg drums und fife mingle with fiddles and guitars
We sing a song 'bout Billy Boy and drink a toast to Henry Joy
For Taigs and Prods like Guinness best instead the waters of the Boyne

We get on posers and chat up girls and talk to fellas staunch and loyal
Then hit the street and dance in line round the Martyr's Memorial
We step ahead for Albert Bridge and piss against the Orange Hall
The meeting of the waters will unite the Shankill and the Falls
NOTES: At MCART'S FORT on Cave Hill overlooking Belfast, HENRY JOY McCracken (1767-98) and Theobald Wolfe Tone (1763-98) founded the Society of United Irishmen and led Ireland into the rebellion of 1798. Their motto: "the harp is new strung and shall be heard". GIANT'S CAUSEWAY is a mass of volcanic columns off the Antrim coast and major tourist spot, attributed of being built by the giant Fionn Mac Cumhaill. The English king BILLY (William of Orange, 1650-1702) defeated his catholic rival, James II (1633-1701), at the River BOYNE (1690). ORANGE HALLS are the social centre of the loyalist Orange Order, the biggest political organization among Ulster protestants. The LAMBEG DRUM is associated with their processions (possibly the only European traditional drum music). Reverend Ian Paisley (*1926), the bigoted leader of the Free Presbyterian Church and Democratic Unionist Party, at home in MARTYR'S MEMORIAL CHURCH in Ravenhill Road, denounced the country and western style of LINE DANCING "with its sexual gestures and touching" as "aiding and abetting fleshly lusts which war against the soul". SHANKILL is a protestant district, the FALLS a catholic area, respectively. The MEETING OF THE WATERS is a popular Irish song written by Thomas Moore (1779-1852), actually the marriage of the rivers Avonmore and Avonbeg in the Wicklow Mountains ("where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease, and our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace", 1807), but also a great metaphor for the aspiring get together of PRODS ("They are not musical; their ear is formed to the melody of fife and drum, supported by the sound of fire-arms - by way of bass", 1870) and TAIGS ("Thus in lewd and obscene dancing, and in excess drinking, the remainder of the day is spent as if they celebrated the Bacchanalia rather than the memory of a pious saint or their own penetentials", 1682).

Millennium Blues (© Walkin' Tom 2000)

The first thing popping up in my head on New Years morn. Strange things happen.

 C                                                                   CAPO II
Harry, Sid and Sally came a-riding into town
      C                                               G
They spoke of God and Jesus, oh Lord, that brings me down
       C                                             F
Cause that's for decent people and sure it's not for me
          C               G                   C
It's the blues, it's the blues that's driving me

          G               F    G!                 C
It's the blues, only the blues ... that's driving me

Harry played the gospel on his red guitar
It took him from the Delta to West Chicago bars
Good Lord, oh please forgive me, but I hate that song
It's the blues, it's the blues driving me on

It's the blues, only the blues driving me on

Sid pulled out a bible, he fell down to his knees
He sent a prayer to heaven, but God is black I know she is
I sent him to the whore-house, I cater preachers well 
It's the blues, it's the blues driving to hell

It's the blues, only the blues driving to hell

Sally free and easy, fine and handsome too
I took her home for coffee, that's what I supposed to do    
A nail pierced through her bosom, she showed my her tattoos
It's the blues, it's the blues driving her too

Babe, it's the blues, only the blues driving her too

Harry said to Sally: This guy's no good to you
He sang another gospel, I knocked him off his shoes
The ambulance was coming, I hit him once again
It's the blues, it's the blues driving insane

It's the blues, only the blues driving insane

Now, Harry, Sid and Sally left for another town
Still running round these streets of shame, I won't let bring me down
For Coca cola, cornflakes, this might be good for you
But whiskey, girls and gambling that's what I prefer to do

And it's the blues, only the blues driving me blue
Oh, it's the blues, that damn ol' blues driving me blue

Ned Kelly and his Gang (© Ned Kelly/Walkin' Tom/Trad. 1880/2002)

     Em                G      D         Em             D
Come all you wild and wicked boys that ramble free of care
      Em            G       D               Em          D       Em
That ride out on a moonlit night with your horse, your gun and snare
   G              D               Em           D
Attention pay to what I say, and value if you can
      Em               G  D         Em    D       Em
I'll tell you now the story of Ned Kelly and his Gang

My name is Edward Kelly and I grew a wanted man
Since Old Red sailed from Erin's Isle to plough Van Diemen's land
Always on trial, always beguiled, so I shot the traps and ran
And that's the cruel reason that made the Kelly Gang

There was Joe Byrne and Stevie Hart and my young brother Dan
We stole the squatters' horses and robbed Euroa bank
We did revoke the tyrant's yoke, and lads and lasses sang
Of Harry Power, Jack Donahue and the brave Ned Kelly Gang

Oft times when I did slumber, I had a pleasant dream
My sweetheart sitting near me, down by a purling stream
To Greta fair I did repair, my Mary by the hand
But woken broken-hearted, I cursed the Kelly Gang

For two long years the Kelly Gang ran on a wild career
Till one day round Glenrowan town the troopers standing queer
`Surrender now, lay your guns down, can't you see there's one to ten'
And that was how them cowards caught Ned Kelly and his Gang

So all you wild and wicked boys wherever you may be
In armour free or convict chains, come listen unto me
From Melbourne Gaol I bid farewell, tomorrow I'll be hanged
Now say a prayer and don't forget Ned Kelly and his Gang

None But Irish Need Apply (© Walkin' Tom/Trad 2002)

  G                              C            D
I am a decent Irishman from the town of Ballyfad
   G         C             G              D
I want a situation, and I want it mighty bad
      G                                     C                 D
I've seen employment advertised, `Tis the thing for me,' says I
         G              C              G      D       G
But the dirty spalpeen ended with: `No Irish need apply!'

                   G                            C               D
Well once they'd think it a misfortune to be christened Pat or Dan
       G            C            G      D     G
But today it is an honour to be born an Irishman

Now these days in Dublin City, the Celtic Tiger roams the street
The rich and rotten set the tune, and the poor still miss the beat
And `A Hundred Thousand Welcomes' is the first Irish thing in sight
Yet the signs in Dan O'Connell Street: `None but Irish need apply!'

Now this song is for Dave Richardson and all the names I do not know
Stabbed with a dagger in the back or slighted high and low
That want an occupation or just a place to cry
But every dirty bugger says: `No nigger need apply'

Now always do remember that you broke almost every law
To send your sons and daughters all upon a foreign shore
So keep the doors wide open to the stranger passing by
And never dare to tell me: `None but Irish need apply'

Well once they'd think it a misfortune to be christened Pat or Dan
Thank God today it is an honour to be born an Irishman

But when I think about the fortune to be christened Pat or Dan
Sometimes I wish that I was black and no bigot Irishman

North Sea Shell Fisheries (© Walkin' Tom/Trad 1995)

Dedicated to Charles Cunningham Boycott (1832-97).

           G       Em           D      G
'Twas in nineteen hundred and ninety five
     C           Am        D
Of April in the very last days
       G         Em          C      Am
So we waved farewell and we anchor weighed
 G         Em        D       G          Em
For Brent Oil Field sailed away, brave boys
 G        Em         D       G 
For Brent Oil Field sailed away

The lookout in the crosstrees he stood
With a spyglass in his hand
"There's the Shell, there's the Shell, 
There's the Shell rig" he cried
"And she rocks at every span, brave boys
And she rocks at every span"

The skipper he stood on the quarter deck
Oh, a fine little man was he
"Overhaul, overhaul, let your davit-tackles fall
For to launch your boats to sea, brave boys
For to launch your boats to sea"

We climbed on board and we took the rig
And we shed such a plenty of a tear
As we hoist' our flag on the top of the mast
You could hear a thousand cheers, brave boys
You could hear a thousand cheers

The dumping of that bloody rig
It grieves my heart full sore
But the dumping of that damn toxic shit
Now it grieves me ten times more, brave boys
Now it grieves me ten times more

Oh, the North Sea is a dreadful place
A place that bears no green
Where there's Shell & Co, but no whale fishes blow
And the seabirds's seldom seen, brave boys
And the seabirds's seldom seen

Tune: Greenland Whale Fisheries

Ode For A Little Mouse, Dropped, Drowned, Dead (Poem) (© Walkin' Tom 2008)

Little mice squeaking, seeking and peeking
Oh where do you go now, my little one?
Little mice picking, licking and nicking
Oh what are you up to, my little one?
Little mice skipping, tripping and dripping
Oh where are you coming from, my little one?

Behold, my love
What news you bring?
And did you hear that piercing shriek
A-coming from the kitchen sink?

Oh mother dear
Sad news I bring
I sure did hear that piercing shriek
A-coming from the kitchen sink?

So little ones, where’er you go
This warning take by me:
Beware of deep waters!
Stay away from the cat!
Never kiss the sick daughter!
And you’ll never go ... dead!

Paddy on the Radio (© Walkin' Tom 2000)

Paddy Fahy (*1926), Fiddler aus dem County Galway, gilt als Komponist von rund 60 Tunes - mit den einfallsreichen Titeln Paddy Fahy's #1, Paddy Fahy's #2, usw. "They're all called Paddy Fahy's so you could know one from the other." (J. Burke) Wenn die gesamte Sippe vor dem Kamin saß, schloss der gute Paddy gerne mal ein Mikrophon an das Familienradio an: "Oh, Jesus, that's Fahy! He's playing on the radio again tonight!"

   D                C
  I hear it in the morning
   G                   A
  When the sun shines bright
   D                 C
  I hear it in the evening
        G               A
  When dusk turns into night

  There's sweet charming music
  Ringing in the sky
  The world comes to your door
  On the radio tonight

          D  C          G  A          D  C      G    A 
  On the radio, on the radio, on the radio, tonight
  On the radio, on the radio, on the radio, tonight

  Paddy's up on the 2nd floor
  With his fiddle and his mike
  Down by the fire we sit and smile
  "He's on the radio tonight"

  Bm G A   Bm G A   Bm G A   Bm G A

  I hear it in the morning
  When the sun shines bright
  I hear it in the evening
  It's on the radio tonight
  On the radio ...      Bm  G  F Em D
  ... on the radio, tonight

T:Paddy on the Radio
C:Tom Walkin' Tom
K:D major
P: Chorus (Version #1)
[AF][AF] | "D"[A6F6] [FD][EG-] | "C"-[E4G4] z2[AF][AF] | "G"[A6F6G6] [DG][EA-] | "A"-[E4A4] z2[AF][AF] | 
w: On the ra-di-o,_ on the ra-di-o,_ on the
"D"[A6F6] G[FA-] | "C"-[E4G4] z2[DA][DG-] | "G"-[D8G8] | "A"z8 ||
w: ra-di-o_ to-night._ 
P: Chorus (Version #2)
[Ad][Ad] | "D"[A6d6] [Fd][E=c-] | "C"-[E4=c4] z2[Ad][Ad] | "G"[A6d6] [Dd][E^c-] | "A"-[E4^c4] z2 [Ad][Ad] | 
w: On the ra-di-o,_ on the ra-di-o,_ on the
"D"[A6d6] [G^c][F=c-] | "C"-[E4B4] z2[DB][DB-] | "G"-[D8B8] | "A"z8 ||
w: ra-di-o_ to-night._ 
P: Chorus (One-Part)
AA | "D"A6 DE | "C"-E4 z2AA | "G"A6 DE | "A"-E4 z2AA | 
w: On the ra-di-o,_ on the ra-di-o,_ on the
"D"A6 GF | "C"-E4 z2DD | "G"-D8 | "A"z8 ||
w: ra-di-o_ to-night._ 
P:Ending (voice, fiddle)
V:V1 clef=treble
V:V2 clef=treble
[V:V1] c2 | B8 | -B8 | z8 | z8 |]
w: To-night.
[V:V2] z2 | "Bm"c8 | "G"B8 | "F      Em"A8 | "D"-A8 |]

Santa Who? (© Walkin' Tom 2012)

          Em                 G
Tell me, sister, who's that old man
        C               D
Standing in the corner dark 
With a ruby coat and white beard he's not looking very smart

A large bag upon his shoulder and a brushwood in his hand
Why the coppers don't arrest him I don't really understand

Little brother, he's no beggar
          C            D
He's not selling any straws
He's no flasher, he's no pusher and they call him Santa Claus

       C           G
Hey-ya-ho, hey-ya-hey
        G       C    G              C         D      G
Santa Claus is busy tryin' to fit into these modern days

Tell me, sister, what's that old mare
Tied up to this wooden cart
Blind & lame & deaf she's destined  
Only for the knacker's yard          

It's no horse and it's no donkey
It's no ox and it's no bull
Bro, they call this thing a reindeer
Don't you shove her! Don't you pull!

Hey-ya-ho, hey-ya-hey …

Now our parents always told us:  
Don't talk to strangers in the dark 
Never take their sweets & candies 
Do not step into their cars  

And this pair it is quite awkward        
Could do with some decent work
If I was this funny fella
I came riding in a merc

Hey-ya-ho, hey-ya-hey …

The Sound of Whiskey (© Walkin' Tom 2002)

Nimm's leicht und mach ein Lied daraus!

Rain's pouring down
Cars rushing by
The whores are willin'
I feel like cryin'

I strike some chords
Can't stop the blues
Try to sing a love song
But it never goes

"Give us a tune, lad"
Oh I don't hear
D              A            G     [A]
The sound of whiskey in my ear

I don't mind the future
I don't regret the past
Though everything I'm doing
Puts me to the test
I always will remember
Your sparkling eyes
But I'm heading off now
For a different sky

I never said "I love you"
Oh I love you dear
The sound of whiskey in my ear

A   Bm   G   D A   Bm   G   D A  G

The rain's still pouring down
The whores snuggle off to bed
I just can't get you
Out of my head
I strike another chord
To ease the pain
Try to write a love song
But it's all in vain

Whatever keeps me going
Whatever brings me here
The sound of whiskey in my ear

How hard I'm tryin'
It won't disappear
The sound of whiskey in my ear

This is not England (© Walkin' Tom 2001)

This is not an Irish song, no, not at all. But about the stupidity of nationalism. Britain populated and conquered by Celts, Anglo-Saxons, Vikings, and Normans, and ruled by Scottish, Welsh, Dutch, and German kings. So what is England anyway?

G                     C
 This is not England,   no, it is not
G                     D
 This is not England,   it never was
G                     C
 This is not England,   it's always been
Em             Am                      D
 A rose whose thorns cut through your skin

 When the Saxons swept the land
 Like we did before
 They burned our barns and houses
 Like we took the cairns and forts

 They pushed us into obscurity
 Left us no place to roam
 We settled bogs and mountains
 And made a castle of our home

Am                  G
 Then the Vikings seized the coast
      Em                D
 And William conquered all
Am                 G
 He made his way across the sea
           Em          D         C D
 Led by a scaring fireball

 This is not England ...

 They put a Scotsman on a throne
 They robbed before from Scotland's crags
 A German brought fresh blood
 Which almost drove us mad

 We're forced to sail the seven seas
 For glory, God - and spice
 A pirate and a virgin queen
 We lived on promises and lies

 We bled on every battlefield
 At sea and down the mine
 To build a nation, proud and strong
 They had to break our spine

 This is not England ...

 I learned we shaped democracy
 But at the same time chased her to death
 Another Cromwell talks of shite
 And puts the crown on his roundhead

 We ruled the waves in days of yore
 And we're told a thousand times:
 The English rose withered away
 Before she stood in her full prime

 This is not England ...

G                     C
 This is not England ....
Em        Am         D
 What is England anyway? 
 |:  Em Am G D  Em Am G D  Am G Em D  Am G Em D  :| Em
     Na na na ...
NOTES: The ANGLO-SAXON tribes invaded Britain from the 5th century onwards and overthrew the Celtic people (who themselves had overthrown the native population before). WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR (1027-87), duke of Normandy, won the English throne in 1066. Halley's comet, depicted at the Bayeux Tapestry, appeared at the Battle of Hastings. When Henry III (1207-72) married Eleanor of Provence, the golden ROSE of Provence became England's floral symbol. Francis Drake (1540-96) circumnavigated the world, when not practising PIRACY in the Caribbean Sea for his VIRGIN QUEEN Elizabeth I (1533-1603). She had neither husband nor children, but ... Anyway, SCOTSMAN James Stewart (1566-1625) succeeded her - crowned on the ancient Scottish Coronation Stone carried off by the English to Westminster Abbey in 1296 -, as did the GERMANS from Hanover. George III (1738-1820) is widely remembered for two things: losing the American colonies and going mad. OLIVER CROMWELL (1599-1658), leader of the Puritan ROUNDHEADS, chopped off his king's head and ruled the country as Lord Protector. BRITANNIA RULE THE WAVES, a poem by James Thomson (1700-48) put to music by Thomas Augustine Arne (around 1740), is the British imperialistic anthem.

This Singing River (© Walkin' Tom 2000)

Die Überbrückung des East Pascagoula River in Mississippi ist bekannt als ,Singing River'. An stillen Sommerabenden kann man rätselhafte Töne vernehmen, die dem Gewässer entsteigen. Die Legende berichtet: "The Pascagoula Indians, a peaceful, gentle tribe, were beset upon by the neighboring Biloxi Indians, a fierce, warlike tribe. Having lost several battles with the Biloxi in which many of the Pascagoula warriors were killed, and with the shouts of their victorious foes ringing in their ears, the Pascagoulas resolved to die rather than be enslaved. All the men, women and children clasped their hands together and marched into the serene waters of the Singing River chanting their death song, perishing beneath the waves. The eternal death song of the Pascagoula Indians can be heard by all those who care to listen upon the banks of Singing River."

 Em  G  C    Em  G  C

In quiet nights when the winds stand still
The river lilts a lonesome reel
I hear the call down from the swirling stream
Of love and hope and plans and dreams

 D  C  Bm Bm(2)  D  C  Bm

When the river wakes up, wakes up from winter's sleep
A haunting tune comes from the deep
The waters swinging downhill through the glen
Till the waves are frozen tears again
            D   C   Bm  Bm(2)  
Oh, tears again
      D   C   Bm  C D
Yet again

Em  G        C                 Em    G        C
    O - ho - ho, this singing river, u - hu - hu
Em  G        C                 Em    G         C
    O - ho - ho, this singing river_____________

This singing river is rolling in our veins
Our exiled hearts locked up in chains
We grip our hands and we march to and fro
We chant our song and then we go
Then we go
Ah, here we go

O - ho - ho, this singing river ... 

Turnip Greens (© Walkin' Tom 2003)

I'm born in Indiana, the home of rain and snow
     D                           G      A    D
I'm dyin' for San Antonio, the place I wanna go
     D                                         G
Way down the Mississippi on the road to New Orleans
      D                                     G               A       D
Twas three po' souls by the river bank a-scratchin' on the turnip greens
   G               A       D
Scratchin' on the turnip greens

White man goes to the foundry, black man goes to the fields,
Red man stays in the bed all day but gets under the wheels
Three souls in the kitchen, longing for the cake and cream
Three po' souls by the kitchen-sink a-scratchin' on the turnip greens

          A           G       D
Oh I'm a fool on the turnip greens
Ain't got no school on the turnip greens
Can't make it cool on the turnip greens
         G               A       D
I'm a-scratchin' on the turnip greens

I met a little gipsy in a fortune-telling place
She held my hand and she read my mind, then she slapped me in my face
I know I ain't good looking, my breath's like nicotine
But po' shape takes you thru this world scratchin' on the turnip greens

Gonna call up to Lord Jesus to send me an angel down
If you haven't got an angel nigh, send me a high-heeled brown
It ain't a heavy brain, Lord, it ain't a beauty queen
It's the way she does the nasty swing a-scratchin' on the turnip greens

Now black man wails the holler, red man pipes the booze
White man wish he was in Dixie, black man got the blues,
Three souls gone to glory, a most peculiar scene
Three souls and Lord Jesus a-scratchin' on the turnip greens

Two Trains Running (© Walkin' Tom 1980s)

         G                 C                               G
There's two trains runnin', two trains runnin' through my mind
         C                                                 G
There's two trains runnin', two trains runnin' through my mind
 D                         C                   G     C    G  C D    
One's the midnight special, one's the morning line

There's two hearts beatin', two hearts beatin' in my side
One's sad and lonely, the other's rude and wild

Sometimes I feel the whole world's one big prison yard
Some of us are prisoners, the rest of us are guards

There's two trains running ...

Wandering Mind (© Gärtner/Walkin' Tom 2000/1)

 F G Dm C Dm C Am
 F G Dm C Dm C Em FG

I'm wandering up the country
I'm walking down the road
I'm heading for unbeaten tracks
    F                    G
Where'er the wild winds blow

Who's counting all the footsteps
Who's counting all the miles
Who's counting all the stars
               F                 G
When no walls hide them from my eyes

Dm                       C
 I hang around the boulevards
Em                              F
 Scarred for life, no handsome pet
Dm                             C
 But he who never starved or froze
Em                                F  G 
 Chained to his master's door instead

I am just a rover
Who calls on every street
       Em    F   G           C
While other men just choose one
Till I'm wrapped in my last sheets
Hey girl, excuse me
I've got a wandering mind
   Em       F        G        C
A restless soul and tireless feet
   Am          Em      Am          G
Impossible to bind, impossible to bind

I threw the shovel to the ground
And I never shed a tear
But I won't forget men's sweat and blood
Washed away with pints of beer

I heard the guns a-roaring
And I smelled the battle smoke
Oh, I shun the marching fife and drum
For to dance with peaceful folk

I rise above the barricades
And I let fly my soul
But when I fall for you I know
The other day I have to go

I am just a rover ...

 Am C F G Am C F G

And when I come to rest
The silence makes me scream
I lie awake all night
Still I dream a thousand dreams

I am just a rover ...

Welcome Merry Christmas Time (© Trad/Walkin' Tom 2004)

Weihnachten 1867 fand auf der Fregatte Hougoumont der letzte Transport statt, mit dem England seine unliebsamen Untertanen nach Australien entsorgte. Zwei an Bord von Iren verfasste Gedichte wurden von Tom zu einem Lied vereint. Die Melodie haben wir mit etwas weihnachtlichem Zuckerguß verziert.

      D                 G                  A            A
Ten thousand leagues across the foam and speeding far away
Are we from friends, beloved and home, and this is Christmas day
Fling the cup of sorrow down, boys
Laugh tonight at fate's dark frown, boys
 D            G
Banish sorrow and joy borrow
    A               D
To welcome merry Christmas time

Our place is vacant by the hearth, loved eyes for us are wet
And those who love us on this earth today will not forget
Tune your voices full of laughter
Dash away the dark hereafter
Banish sorrow...

In spirit back to them we'll fly and sweet communion hold
And eyes that weep and strive to dry and hearts that droop make bold
Quaff of mirth a brimming measure
Mirth tonight our only treasure
Banish sorrow...

And hope with us will sweetly sing into each dear one's ear
Soon time to us again will bring bright Christmas and New Year
It will warm our hearts like wine, boys
None tonight should weep or pine, boys
Banish sorrow...

The Wheel (© Walkin' Tom 2001)

Take life easy and life will take you easy too. Enjoy yourself, have fun. That's what everything is about.

G   D             Em
 I see my sad reflection
C        D             Em
 In the bottom of the glass
G   D           Em
 I feel my misreaction
C          D               Am
 Sipping mute and nursing scars

Will I never start off learning?
Will I be always on the run?
The wheel of life keeps turning
And we're blinded by the sun

 G   D       C               C
 I'm on the wheel
 G      D              Am
 But tomorrow's never real
 G   D       C               C
 I'm on the wheel
 G      D              Am  G C  D
 But tomorrow's never real

Satan strikes the other day
We're one inch close to Hades' door
So many things to do and say
Could be the last chance anymore

Hunger, torture and disease
Oh, you can hear the banshee cry
The wisest of philosophies
Turns out to be a helpless sigh

 I'm on the wheel ...

Live for the moment and the passion
The only lesson life can tell
A quest for love is my obsession
Until I'm dancing into hell

 I'm on the wheel ...               Am  G C  D  G