Lyrics from A Second Wynd

Track 1:  John Barleycorn (trad. Irish)

There were three men, came out of the west, their fortunes for to try.  And these three men made a solemn vow, John Barleycorn should die.  They plowed, they sowed, they harrowed him, threw clods upon his head. Then these three men made their solemn vow; John Barleycorn was dead.  They let him lie for a long, long time, till the rains from heaven did fall. Then little Sir John threw up his head and so amazed them all. They let him stand ‘til a mid-summer’s day, ‘til he looked so pale and wan. Then little Sir John grew a long white beard and so became a man.  They hired men with scythes so sharp to cut him off at the knee.  They rolled him and tied him at the waist, serving him most barbarously.  They hired men with sharp pitch forks to prick him through the heart, but the drover served him worse than that for he’s bound him to a cart. They wheeled him around and around the field, ‘til they came into a barn and there they made their final vow on poor old Barleycorn. They hired men with crab tree sticks to strip him skin from bone, but the miller has served him worst of all for he’s ground him between two stones. There’s beer all in the barrel and there’s whiskey in the glass, but little Sir John of the nut-brown bone proved the strongest man at last. Now the huntsman, he can’t hunt the fox or loudly blow his horn, and the tinker can’t mend his cobble or his horn without a little barleycorn.

Track 4:  Katy's Rambles (trad Irish, lyrics by Tom Reese)

Sweet just like the breeze, brought by an early spring, whispering melodies, songs that the birds can sing. Then the shadows fall over a golden field, Katy is calling you. Come take her hand. Katy you’re there, when the darkness takes hold of me. Katy you’re there, when the others refuse to see. You are a joy to the ones that have set you free. Open your arms to her, come take her hand. To her place we’ll go down by the tannery, in through the tavern door, open for all to see. I’m reminded of days with my family, walking to town on a warm summer’s day. Chorus. We’ll take all the rhymes buried in memories, spoken in fairy tales, hardly a mystery. You will find your place, Katy will call your name, and you’ll go sailing on, singing her song. Chorus. Katy it’s you that has shown me my destiny. Katy it’s you that has shown me how love should be. You are afloat on a sea of tranquility, open your arms to me, I’ll take your hand. Chorus.
 

Track 7:  Garden of You (Lisa Franco, lyrics by Chris Laughery)

I can feel you in the garden, in the stick of summertime. There’s something ‘bout the memory of your passion makes me rhyme. I can see your face as clear as day, shining through the pain. I begin to smell the bouquet of you and the tears fall like rain. I swear sometimes you visit me, I feel you in my heart, thoughts of you so fuzzy warm though we’re ages far apart. I only see you in my dream and in the garden, too, so innocently hidden in the forbidden Garden of You. With your lips so silky sweet, I can almost taste the heat, I wonder if we’ll ever meet again, in the Garden of You. Well I found an old photo in the attics of our love, my inner cat played tit for tat with your cuddly little dove, round and round so playfully on the wings of desire, soaring into eternity, raging with the fire. Chorus. Well, here’s the health to all the ones who shared my path along the way, may we meet again with merriment, all in the month of May. May we laugh and love the whole night through, let morning make us fall. We’ll wake to find the ache behind, and it’s not a dream at all. Chorus.
 

Track 8:  A Stor Mo Chroi (trad Irish) 

A Stor Mo Chroi, when you’re far away, from the homes that you’ve soon be leaving. And it’s many’s the time by night and day, your heart will sorely be grieving.  Oh the stranger’s land is rich and fair, with riches and treasures golden.  You’ll pine, I know, for the days long ago and the love that is never olden.  A Stor Mo Chroi, in the stranger’s land, there is plenty of wealth and earnings. Wealth and gems adorn, from the rich and grand, the but there are faces with hunger tearing. Though the road is weary and hard to tread, and the lights of their cities will blind you, you’ll turn astor for Erin’s shores and the ones you’ve left behind you.  A Stor Mo Chroi, when the evening sun over mountains and meadows is falling.  Won’t you, turn away from the trough and listen and maybe you’ll hear me calling.  For the voice you’ll hear is surely mine, for somebody’s speedly returning. Arun, Arun, won’t you come home soon to the one’s who will always love you.