Slainte Mhath

A hand held over a candle in angst-fuelled bravado

A carbon trail scores a moist stretched palm

Trapped in the indecision of another fine menu

And you sit there and ask me to tell you the story so far

This is the story so far



Shuffling your memories dealing your doodles in margins

You scrawl out your poems across a beer-mat or two

And when you declare the point of grave creation

They turn round and ask you to tell them the story so far



This is the story so far



And you listen with a tear in your eye

To their hopes and betrayals and your only reply

Is sl