She wears Mystic Lipstick; she wears stones and bones,
She tells myth and legend; she sings rock and roll,
She wears chains of bondage; she wears the wings of hope
She wears the gown of plenty, and still it's hard to cope.

Chroi o mo chroi, your heart is breaking,
Your eyes are red your song is blue,
Your poets underneath the willow in despair,
They have been lovers of your sad tune, lovers of your slow air.

And though they say how it hurts you,
And sing the book of your heart
Oh sweet black rose how they've loved you,
And it's hard to,
But they do Eire, they do.

She keeps fools for counsel; she keeps the wig and gown,
The cloth and bloody warfare, the stars, the stripes and crown,
And still we pray for a better day now,
God willing it's for the best,
But I've just seen the harp on the penny,
With a dollar on her naked breast.

Chroi o mo chroi your heart is breaking
Your eyes are red your song is blue
Your poets underneath the willow in despair,
They have been lovers of your sad tune,
Lovers of your slow air, lovers in sweet despair.

Words and Music by Jimmy McCarthy