LAST OF THE IRISH QUEENS (2007)


Molly sits upon her throne
The world hers to assess
The bra of silk upon the floor
The empty coffee press

The perfect stream of 10am light
The shelf of pens and paints
She languorously smokes, her body
Free of its constraints


The saints will preserve us,
the sisters all said
The saints will preserve us


Molly of the morning
Holds her quiet revels
Drawing light into her room
To exorcise the devils

Her subject sleeps upon the bed
So opulent with sweat
The rich perfume of freckled skin
Infused with cigarette


The saints will preserve us, the sisters all said
Though nary a one intervenes
But sure, there’s a ballad still to compose
For the last of the Irish Queens

She dreams of the cairns a-calling
Built stone by stone
Upon the mud
Dreams of the cairns a-calling
A cry she’s known
In the deepest reaches
Of her blood
Of her blood


The surface of her body
Traversed throughout the night
The talismans of metal
That glinted in the light

The tapestries that mark her flesh
With memories embossed
Her well deep as the ocean
That famished pilgrims crossed


The saints will preserve us, the sisters all said
Though nary a one intervenes
But sure, there’s a ballad still to compose
For the last
For the last of the Irish Queens


This song is in the territory of The Decembrists’ sound. A little ballad-y but modern. I "hear" it as a mystical, faraway sound.

I liked the image of the woman who doesn’t realize that she has traces of royal blood from hundreds of years ago, but carries a sense of royalty inside her. Here she is, post-coital, the morning after, entirely the monarch of her very small world.

This lyric won Lyric of the Month at The Muses’ Muse, November 2007, and is currently being worked on by a local artist.

crumpled paper