I saw you on the streets of Dublin
Your hair curled up in a shell
Covered with lace
Pale and smelling like the water
Pike, Carp and tench
The oldies, our bricks
Our wooden tables, warm chairs
And the smell of Guinness
It still hurts how good you’re looking
So fresh and clean as the morning dew
The pain of your beautiful face
Pressing on my heart
Lost in the squares of your dress
Counting them with my finger
Faultless, ironed
Her cloved hand in his
Her young child, his first steps
On the streets of Dublin
Her red lips, red and blissful
A perfect picture
I wish it was mine to look at
A mother with her child
A dream of taking her
To ripp off her immaculate clothes
Wash away that mask
Of lies and pretention
We could be one again
On fields of yellow hay
Close to the cows who give us milk
Filled with dreams of green
Bed of Feathers 