I will live in Ringsend
With our red-headed beoire
And the fanlight gone in where it hits the hall door
And listens each night for her querulous shout
As at last, she streels in and the pubs empty out
To soothe that wild breast with my old-fangled songs
And she feels it
I will live in Ringsend
With our red-headed beoire
From inordinate wrongs
Imagined, outrageous, preposterous wrongs
Till peace at last comes, shall be all I will do
Where the littlе lamp blooms like a rose in the stеw
And up the back garden
And she feels it
From inordinate wrongs
Imagined, outrageous, preposterous wrongs
Till peace at last comes, shall be all I will do
Where the little lamp blooms like a rose in the stew
And up the back garden
The sound comes to me of the lapsing, unsoilable, whispering sea
She feels it
She feels it
The sound comes to me of the lapsing, unsoilable, whispering sea
She feels it
She feels it
She feels it
She feels it