Violets

The territorial drums a waltz on a loaded gun

The viper flexes, coiling on the vine

And the irises are sinking in the rain

Idiots drown the sound of a distant train

The blind man plays his instrument and sings

In the Irish Sea the ichthyosaurus swims

The Reverend Ian Paisley grabs his God and shouts

The Pope sits in the Vatican and doubts

The generous American is loosening his belt

Savouring his childhood in an after-dinner mint

And the rosebuds are sinking in the rain

Radios drown the sound of a distant train

The blind man's bow leaves resin on the strings

In the Irish Sea the rattlesnake swims

On the feast day of St Patrick, like the poet Valery

A soldier pours a glass of blood red wine into the sea

The Sun can never shine through the censorship of clouds

In this city of open secrets and sudden shrouds

And the astors are sinking in the rain

Automatics drown the sound of a distant train

The blind old man's accordion is torn

In the Irish sea the adders swarm

And in a Ballymena farmhouse a widow goes to bits

And sometimes she remembers him and sometimes she just sits

And as for the troubles, don't count us out

Sometimes we're unbiased observers, sometimes louts

While the tiger lilies crumple in the rain

Television drowns the sound of a distant train

The blind man pours the spit from an old trombone

In the Irish Sea the tapeworms twist and turn

The Moon is a sergeant major who rises and recruits

In the terraces of Belfast, in the back streets of Beirut

Sitting on a bed while I watch you from behind

Skinny as a child, guilt-free, your face unlined

While the violets are sinking in the rain

Videos drown the sound of a distant train

The blind old man has smashed his violin

In the Irish Sea the vipers swim

Could've been your conscience but I guess that never works

So treat me like an equal till it hurts

I violetti surrendono per te

I canali la torre di Babel

I violini piangono per che

Io sto morendo in questo hotel

I violetti surrendono per te

I canali la torre di Babel

I violini piangono per che

Io sto morendo in questo hotel