THE TRAMP
This piece was written by a Lisburn man Bill Brownlee around 1957, he went to live in Grangemouth, Scotland
In a lonely part of Ireland, near the town of Mullingar
We were gathered in the evening, in a little village bar
Through the door there came a stranger, just a tramp he seemed to be
In his face the sign of hunger, almost anyone could see
But he brought a breath of summer, as he slowly wandered in
Dressed in rags that someone gave him, and the boots now worn so thin
Someone's son my mind was thinking, someone fallen by the way
Or perhaps a long lost father, who had seen a better day
Could I join you for a minute, just before I go my way
In a voice as sweet as music, mindful of a summer day
I have wandered o'er the moorland ,seen the rising of the sun,
And my poor old feet are weary, life's hard battle must be won
To a seat I saw him totter, heard the whisper of a sigh,
Then I saw the old face brightened, with a twinkle in the eye
Lonely there he sat and listened, to the stories that were told
Someone's son or father ,who had wandered from the fold
Surely there must be a story, hidden somewhere in the breast,
Of a tramp who roams the moorland, something different from the rest
As I made my way to join him, something told me he was glad
Folk around me gazed in wonder, some they even thought me mad
Thank you sir, I heard him saying
Loneliness can bring a chill
Maybe I should tell a story
Though with tears my eyes they fill
In my youth I was an artist, painted pictures by the score
Then one day I found an angel, married her in Annaghmore
I was happy with my ,sunshine came our way
And each night we knelt together, just to meditate and pray
But a thief he came and stole her ,took the flower I cherished rare,
Isn't there a god in heaven to protect a life so fair
Did you ever lose a fortune, did you lose your only friend
Did the sunshine never bless you, nor the lonely not bend
Did you ever see the finger, pointed at you all the day
Broken hearts are never mended, in this hard and cruel way
I left home with all its sadness, left the place where I was born
Made the sky my only blanket, and my friend a sundecked morn
When they told me she was dying, even after all the years
Like a baby I was crying, finding solace in my tears
To the place where she is lying, every year I make my way
And I place a wreath of roses, on that brown and sacred clay
Roses plucked from out the hedgerows, but she seen them just the same
And I know she hears me whisper, as I quietly breathe her name
You may ask why I remember, why she's always in my dreams
But true love is ne'er forgotten, and a fond smile always beams
I forgave and granted pardon, even in my prayers I say
That a souls not lost to heaven, just for erring on the way
Summer brings its gladness, and the birds sing high above
Just to bring me consolation, an an atmosphere of love
But a tramp in lonely exile still within his native land
Must keep trying must keep trying, only god can understand
Thank you, sir, for all your goodness, I must now be on my way
I have many miles to wander, ere I meditate and pray
God alone now brings me comfort, only he can give me peace
Till this world shall mark me absent, and all worry it shall cease
In a lonely part of Ireland, near the town of Mullingar
We were gathered in the evening, in a little village bar,
Through the door there passed a stranger, just a tramp he seemed to be
In his face the sign of heaven, almost anyone could see.
12/08/2011
