If you could fill a veil with shells from Killiney's shoreAnd sweet talk in a tongue that is no moreIf wishful thought could bridgeThe Gulf of ArabyBetween what isWhat isWhat isAnd what can never beIf you could hold the frozen flow of New Hope CreekAnd hide out from the one they said you might meetIf you could unlearn all the wordsThat you never wanted heardIf you could stall the southern windThat's whistling in your earYou could take what isWhat isWhat isTo what can never beOne man of seventy whispers free at lastTwo neighbours who are proud of their massacresThree tyrants torn away in a winter's monthFour prisoners framed by a dirty judgeFive burned with tyresSix men still insideAnd seven more days to shake at the great divideWe would plough and part the earth to bring you homeWe would harvest every miracle ever knownIf they laid out all the thingsThat these ten years want to bringWe would gladly give them upTo bring you back to usO, there is nothing we would not giveTo kiss you and believe we can take what isWhat isWhat isTo what can never beOne man of seventy whispers not free yetTwo neighbors who make up knee-deep in their deadThree tyrants torn away in the summer's heatFour prisoners lost in the fallacyFive, on my lifeSix, I'm dead insideAnd seven more days to shake at the great divide

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