Tonart: G major•
Verse 1
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da da da da da, da da da da
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La da da da, da da da da da,
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da da da da
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They said it would be hard to find it
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They said I might not find it at all
Dun
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Laoghaire, my back pressed
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against an old stone wall
At
Sammymon
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Strand, he said it was the
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That's where the great adventure started,
James
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Joyce's grave
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Joyce is grey
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La la la la, la la la la, la la la la
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La la la la, la la la la, la la la la
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People say he re -wrote the
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though it's not strictly his native tongue.
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And many have tried since this tall,
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skinny man had penned a paper, and confused and delighted
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and disturbed and excited everyone.
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just couldn't hold him,
Oscar
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Wilde,
Samuel
Beckett,
Yeats,
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Swift,
Edna
O 'Brien too.
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Now it's up to us in all these enlightened days,
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that's up to all of us, me and you,
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To go looking for
James
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Joyce's grave
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Europe, pursued by death
Switzerland
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In a land fit for exiles,
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where in 1941 the light was at last shut out from his eyes.
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I asked at the hotel,
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they told me to go to the train station.
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At the train station they
told me to go to information.
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And information told me all about a zoo
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and a beautiful view of the city.
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On the way I saw a dog
as small as a mouse.
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I saw a dog as big as a house.
I saw a puppet playing
Little
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Richard in a market square
And hundreds of black and
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white ballroom dancers
Whirling sporadically and magnetically
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in a shop window
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On the way I stopped off in a bar or cafe
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Full of all these beautiful black clothes,
strange stone people
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Playing dice and backgam
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mon round splintered tables
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An archist literature on the floor,
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expressionist arts on the walls
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Death metal music raging from
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a cracked speaker in the corner
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Told them I was looking for
James
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Joyce's grave
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I finally found his grave high on a hill just beside
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the zoo with a beautiful view of the
city.
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First I saw the statue, the spectacle,
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the slicked back hair, the fiery, wiry, keeper
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and crucifier of this country's conscience
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and all of our unconscious.
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In an autumn crescent of gold, green and brown,
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I brushed the fallen leaves off the inscription
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plaque, which was just be side the zoo and
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it had such a beautiful view of the city.
James
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Joyce's grave.
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I re member writing this song on
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the back page of the evening paper
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My home city in the rain,
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University
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Street
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Ready to go, looking again
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looking for change, is grey
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looking for change, choice is grey
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We were singing
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D
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He wrote in 1904,
Chamber
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Lies in the heart of the river,
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where love wanders there
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Pale flowers on his mantle,
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dead leaves on his hair
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Oh, the dead leaves on his hair,
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I hope one day you'll make it there
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