Tyrone Boys

Christy Moore

where  John Hinde paints in Carribbean colours

Tyrone Boys dream of lovin on the strand

flowers  heaped in gesture on the courthouse steps in Tralee

as the law trampled on Joanne’s hand

Roman posters on the wall of Rathmore graveyard

No Divorce is all they say

I saw a little sister of mercy

invoke the wrath of god on polling day


When the pope came here to meet his people

he knelt and kissed the holy ground

diverted from the Gloucester Diamond

where good people had built a holy shrine

high above the clouds a promised heaven

on the street a confused and homeless child

while men in black declare social order

frightened women sail to the other side


Far away from The Island where Tyrone Boys dream of lovin on the strand

far away from the Island where the law trambles on Joanna’s hand


Thatcher sent young squaddies o’er the water

Geordie dont be afraid to die

in blackened face he dreams of his darlin bairns and hinny

on the watchtower overlooking Aughnacloy

In Long Kesh young Ulstermen are dreaming

of making love upon the strand some day

on the downtown news comes a mid-Atlantic accent

Karen Livingstone has been blown away.


A body slips quietly through the rushes

Mountcharles surveys the battlefield

the silk clad pompadour who played sun city

hears little of the corpse amongst the reeds

the mist comes swirling off the mountain

the children have forgotten how to play

death train sneaks across the island

deadly poisen bound for Killala Bay


All the young ones are leaving the Island

out the door down the steps around the side

unwanted they file through departure lounges

like deportees dispersing far and wide

back home theres cricket in Cloughjordan

the gentle clack of croquet on the lawn

our children shackled by illegal status

hold their heads down behind the Brooklyn wall