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Ballad for a bad Irish accent (Lyric) by zodiac

It’s dusk agin, and the dying wind blows soft down in old Kilkenny, by the lake there’s peace for the ducks and geese but for me – no, there isn’t any. For the hillside glows in a deepening rose ‘neath a sky unending and twilit, and it seems to my eyes like the elephant thighs of my long-lost, beautiful Violet. O the whores in Cork were all thin as storks when I walked Greene Street as a dandy, ‘til I found a-one with a multiple chin and a seventy-cent hand shandy. And we would ride like she was the tide, and I was a harbor pilot, (but more men than me couldn’t tame the sea, of my stout, untamable Violet.) “Ay, Violet,” I said, “ye shall be wed, for it’s me who ye shall be marryin’!” But Violet just grinned, and broke some wind with a smell of mushrooms and carrion, then lit for the door. “Wait!” I yelled, “you whore!” and chased her, so for a while it seemed no doubt I would wear her out – my blimp-like, beautiful Violet. O I kept up hope ‘til we reached the slope of the hill which they call Ben Bentham; as she topped the knoll, she began to roll with incredible ease and momentum. Nor did she brake when she hit the lake, heading out for a distant islet – but her legs alone weighed seventeen stone – so she drowned, my corpulent Violet. Now it’s dusk agin, and the dying wind is cooling the noon-day swelter; and it stirs the trees where I sit (for these are all that I have for shelter.) Ay, you can do what you want with Sue; you can keep your Snorkeling Jenny – but I’ll watch the deeps where my true love sleeps by the lake down in old Kilkenny.

Shuushin 20-Apr-04/6:08 AM
lol - why didn't he think you wrote this??

too funny.




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