Lyrics

I’ve got a little photograph my granddaddy used to have,
it’s old and torn.
A picture of a busy town, people milling all around,
where he was born.
Shoe shops, factories, market stalls,
forty two pubs and a waterfall
A secret glen where boys became men and girls lost all

Tuesday, the square is teeming, cows and sows and banbhs squealing.
Craggy men in shabby suits, tilted caps and rubber boots.
A fiddler plays a haunting air,
Down the glen he can be heard.
Among the reeds and the rushes there,
time stood still.
In my town

That was then, this is now
fifty years have passed somehow
It’s Saturday and all is quiet
I’d hate to see a Sunday night
Empty shops along the street
distract my eye like rotten teeth
Hear the sound of the hammer
See the spark from a nail
Town for sale,
My town

See this bridge old and cracked
it once held a railway track
Engine chugging to the sea
through Ennistymon to Kilkee
Waterfall, the river brown
winter rain is crashing down
Dylan T, Augustus John
This is the bench that they sat on and on…
My town