Sister would you take a bullet for me?
And brother would you risk your life for family?

And we try to have culture
To teach our children
But we forget what to say
So we talk mundane
And we walk the same in this land

There’s a message in this
Of how we exist
Empty, lost and cold
And we hear our hearts
And feel our souls
But every time we’re near
We get sucked to the ground
By the lifeless sounds
In this land

So what have we learnt
With our heritage burnt
And our memory slowly fades
Tears burning our eyes
As we hear the lies
From the cradle to the grave

And does it feel like death
When you know you’re mislead
And your children are lead astray
So if we don’t start now
Then they’ll never know how
And we’ll fade away

From this land

Son wipe the tears from your sisters eyes
Bes strong my son wipe the tears
From your sisters eye…

[d] Kilkelly, Ireland, [F] 18 and 60, my [C] dear and loving son [d] John
Your good friend the schoolmaster [F] Pat McNamara’s so [C] good
As to write these words [d] down.
[F] Your brothers have all gone to [C] find work in England,
The [A#] house is so empty and [a] sad
The [d] crop of potatoes is [F] sorely infected,
A [C] third to a half of them [d] bad.
And [F] your sister Brigid and [C] Patrick O’Donnell
Are [A#] going to be married in [a] June.
Your [d] mother says not to [F] work on the railway
And [C] be sure to come on home [d] soon.

Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 70, my dear and loving son John
Hello to your Mrs and to your 4 children,
And may they grow healthy and strong.
Our Michael has got in a wee bit of trouble,
I suppose that he never will learn.
Because of the dampness there’s no turf to speak of
And now we have nothing to burn.
But Brigid is happy, you named a child for her
You know she’s got six of her own.
You say you found work, but you don’t say
What kind or when you will be coming home.

Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 80, dear Michael and John, my dear sons
I’m sorry to give you the very sad news
Your mother passed on
We buried her down at the church in Kilkelly,
Your brothers and Brigid were there.
You don’t have to worry, she died very quickly,
Remember her in your prayers.
And it’s so good to hear that Michael’s returning,
With money he’s sure to buy land
For the crop has been poor and the people
Are selling any price that they can.

Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 90, my dear and loving son John
I guess that I must be close on to eighty,
It’s thirty years you’ve been gone.
Because of all of the money you send me,
I’m still living out on my own.
Michael has built himself a fine house
And Brigid’s daughters have grown.
And thank you for sending your family picture,
They’re lovely young women and men.
You say that you might even come for a visit,
What joy to see you again.

Kilkelly, Ireland, 18 and 92, my dear brother John
I’m sorry I didn’t write sooner to tell you that father passed on.
He was living with Brigid, she says he was cheerful
And healthy right down to the end.
Ah, you should have seen him play with
The grandchildren of Pat McNamara, your friend.
And we buried him alongside of mother,
Down at the Kilkelly churchyard.
He was a strong and a feisty old man,
Considering his life was so hard.
And it’s funny the way he kept talking about you,
He called for you in the end.
Oh, why don’t you think about coming to visit,
We’d all love to see you again.

Kilkelly Ireland

Ciara Considine (Hauptdarsteller). Ciara Considine 2008, MP3-Download, € 0,84

A Mo Chroa-

Ciara Considine. CD Baby.Com/Indys 2008, Audio CD, € 12,20

[e] True you ride the finest horse [C] I’ve ever seen,
[D] Standing 16 1″ or 2″ with [e] eyes wild and green,
You ride the horse so well, hands light to the touch.
I could never go with you no matter how I wanted to.

Ride on, see you, I could never go with you,
No matter how I wanted to.

When you ride into the night without a trace behind,
Run your claw along my gut, one last time;
I turn to face an empty space where you used to lie
And look for the spark to light the night through the teardrop in my eye