Mary's eyes are startling blue
And her hair's Newcastle gold
And she walks the thin white line between
The body and the soul.
She's as faithful to her history
As a novice to his fast;
For she's standing on the bones
Of Ireland's past.
She's singing of the troubles
And the fire in the land,
'Til I can almost feel the famine
Slipping through my trembling hand.
And I wonder as I hear her,
That the spirit still shines through
And she can reach across the ocean deep
And break my heart in two…
Mary's wise and she is foolish;
She's as constant as the tide.
For it's a woman's heart that beats beneath
That stubborn Irish pride.
We are saints and we are sinners,
We are heros we are theives.
We are all of us beginners
On the road to Galilee
She's singing of the troubles
And the fire in the land,
'Til I can almost feel the famine
Slipping through my trembling hand.
And I wonder as I hear her,
That the spirit still shines through
And she can reach across the ocean deep
And break my heart in two…
So let us hoist a pint of silence
To the East where Ireland lies,
And we will stare across the waters
For a glimpse of Mary's eyes.
We are ships without a harbor,
We are sailors on dry land,
And the song goes on forever
Even though the record can't.
She's singing of the troubles
And the fire in the land,
'Til I can almost feel the famine
Slipping through my trembling hand.
And I wonder as I hear her,
That the spirit still shines through
And she can reach across the ocean deep
And break my heart in two…