In floods and in tears, through the rain, one for sorrow, two for joy, through the air, on my breath a Jody call.
Four for a boy, three for a girl, her field so green, her teeth so white, her skin so orange, she loves this weeping country.
Bury me decent with a Claddagh buckle on your knuckle, honeysuckle please, please.
In rags and in bones and in ribbons under rainbows, with your nose in your knees hold your head steady as we go.
Sing a song of six or seven deadly sins that we all want to get to know, all the while believing that there could be something up above and something down below.
Bury me decent with a Claddagh buckle on your knuckle, honeysuckle please, please.
Under my skin there’s so much oil, so many fossils, enough fuel to leave this country, make me my fortune and think always of you.
Pass the nectar with your tongue coz there’s no bees, but we can still get stung and we need honey too.
Slide with the moon and the fox, thin of coat, red of eyes, near of sight, fired of blood, come what might through the mud.
Out the estuary run blind, leaving everything behind in a bungalow no longer where it stood.
All the seeds that ever are worth getting sewn get buried under soil.