It was all a dream.

In Carrickfergus, the grass was different. The air was salty and free, and it tasted like home. The bitter sun beating down on the back of my neck as I strummed my guitar on the harbour, facing the Carrigfergus castle.

Hoarse was my voice from screaming for my love, singing for her to come back, longing to be close once again. To once again feel her silken hair, the colour of ink and promises. To once again gaze upon her eyes of green, soft cut emeralds gazing at the people in Kilkenny, reflecting the sun and revealing oceanic depth within her green eyes. It was all a dream.

But I'm sick now, and my days are numbered. The loss had cut me down, my fair Nora, taken from me too soon, all those years ago. My face has been weathered and beaten upon by the harsh weather and time that she has gone untouched by. I must stop dreaming.

The sea is so wide, I cannot swim over to my Nora. Lacking the wings to fly I paid the ferryman a handsome fair penny to walk me along the marble stones, towards his rickety boat. I will no longer dream.

With gold and silver I would have supported her, with my busking and music dreams, but I will sing no more.

I am drunk today, and I am seldom sober, stumbling town to town, drowning myself in the curse of alcoholism to forget my youthful regrets of my Nora.

The ferryman knew his job, to carry me out from Carrickfergus. To meet my Nora. No longer in my dreams.

I would have swum over the deepest ocean for my Nora, but the ocean was too wide. But i am sick now, my days are numbered. Come on you young men,

And lay me down.

I wish I had

A handsome boatman,

To ferry me over,

To my love.