One More for Finnegan

        The Grave-diggerís Song
Itís one more for Finnegan,
Then we go on home.
Michael to his pretty wife,
And me to the burying ground,
Me to the burying ground.

I dig a hole for Finnegan,
And let him fall right in.
Dig a hole for Finnegan,
For dear old Finnegan I dig,
My sweat all running down.

Finnegan, says I to him,
You were right to go.
Thereís nothing for us here,
No fields to plow nor anyhow,
To pay us for our tears.

Then Finnegan he rolls over
And looks his eyes at me.
Half a smile and half a frown,
Finnegan he rolls on over,
Like a drunk man in his shroud.

Says old Finnegan to me,
Whatís that yer prayin, Willie boy?
Have ya lost yer gourd?
From where I sit it just donít fit,
Then he begins to snore.

Well, thatís Finnegan for sure,
Always gets the last word in.
But it ainít no sin for a man like him,
No sin in the burying ground,
No sin in the burying ground.

February 14, 2006







Previous Entry     Next Entry     Return to Songs and Letters     About the Author
Finnegan
Main Page
Authorís Note
Background
Notebook
A Listening Thing
Among the Living
No Time to Cut My Hair
One Hand Clapping
Songs and Letters
Collected Poems
Early Short Stories
Armenian Translations
Interviews
News and Reviews
Highly Recommended
Letís Eat
Favorite Books & Authors
Useless Information
Conversation
E-mail & Parting Thoughts


Flippantly Answered Questions

Top of Page