Daire Mhurain

There is a bird who sings to me
Each morning from the apple tree
I wonder what he’s trying to say?
Stop fucking up. It’s not too late!

It’s such a happy, joyous sound!
Little bird who chirps so loud
And brightens up my day with song.
Stop standing there. You’ve not got long.

I wish I could translate your words
My faithful, a cappella bird
Who sits upon the highest bough.
And still you wait. You must act now!

All’s quiet in the tree today
I think perhaps he’s moved away
There’s silence these days everywhere
The ghost of birdsong in the air

My nookie days are over,
My pilot light is out,
What used to be my sex appeal,
Is now my water spout!

Time was when, on its own
From my trousers it would spring,
But now it’s just a full time job
To find the fucking thing!

It used to be embarassing,
The way it would behave,
For every single morning
It would stand and eatch me shave!

Now as old age approaches,
It sure gives me the blues,
To see it hand its little head
And watch me tie my shoes!