to the girl among nightwatchmen my other my joy with your oil drum fire you were my gentle unfolding the wool and the dye the needle and eye these songs you sing as you waltz her up the stairs and the boy smiles at the wheels of the chair we are loved for these things that pass us by all were good for as the sand flows into the hourglass you hold every grain that it might remain part of me wants to see you crumble like those toys on a plinth pool of alabaster limbs into my arms so that i might have my place although the crutch may just serve to dull the only blade that you brought to this fight lets go another round lets go another round to the girl among nightwatchmen the long fingers of morning will take you by the hand precious stones theyre all spoken for youve chosen the tunes everything is just so just so and now birdsong ice clinking in the sun dripfeed of gentle talk and pleasantries and i wait for a gap in the traffic to tell her ill always hold you close its all im good for
['irish pop', 'irish rock', 'melancholia']