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Postcard From The Celtic Dreamtime
The Waterboys
Popularity ยท Moderate
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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Lyrics
Original
Translation
Bilingual
The storm that has held for four days
Has blown itself out
And the wheels of the world
Have begun again to turn
ย
From my window
I watch far waves crashing on the bay
White spray against black sea
Distance compressing their dance into slow motion
On the Clare coast
I see silver rounded hills with scarped terraces
A Martello tower, a ruined fort
Four, maybe five headlands fading south
While westwards, the Aran Islands wait for me
Dark smoke like shadows on the horizon
ย
Pantheons of clouds move
Across the Atlantic sky like ships
White galleons
Chariots or cavalcade of noble kingpins
And patient lofty queens
Slow procession of old gods passing by
ย
Below my house
Kaleidoscope of stone walls and huddled rooftops
Small haphazard fields, wild, untended
A witch-faced woman walking cows uphill
Whacking their arses with a long branch
Suddenly smiling when she sees me
Her rough arm waving
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The clammer of voices in my mind
The woman who wonders about me
The men who want me to deliver their dreams has faded
I could almost no longer hear them
ย
The storm that has howled for four days
Has blown itself out
Nothing disturbs the calm
But the rattle of my typewriter
I stop
ย
In the silence
The ever present past
And the ever passing present
Blend with the landscape to make a flavored immensity
An atmosphere so strong
That when I step outside
I feel it beat against my skin
And cluster headily 'round me
As I walk through it
As I breathe it
As I become it
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