There's a woman in Erin who'd give me shelter and my fill of ale;
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There's a woman in Ireland who'd prefer my strains to strings being played;
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There's a woman in Eirinn and nothing would please her more
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Than to see me burning or in a grave lying cold.
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There's a woman in Eirinn who'd be mad with envy if I was kissed
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By another on fair-day, they have strange ways, but I love them all;
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There are women I'll always adore, battalions of women and more
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And there's this sensuous beauty and she shackled to an ugly boar.
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There's a woman who promised if I'd wander with her I'd find some gold
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A woman in night dress with a loveliness worth more than the woman
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Who vexed Ballymoyer and the plain of Tyrone;
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And the only cure for my pain I'm sure is the ale-house down the road.
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The Women of Ireland
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| Sinead O'Connor |
