Mickey MacConnell
Singer / Songwriter



Only Our Rivers




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When arthritis stole her hands away it left her twisted claws

Mocking ruins of nimble fingers that once danced and won applause

First fiddle, Philharmonic – for years she’d held the Leader’s seat

As her music soared to heaven and the world lay at her feet.

When she gave her life to the concert hall her soul was unaware

It was imprisoned in sheet music seeing only what was there

Now the dust lies on the fiddle strings and bow she always used

When Mozart Handled lovers and Beethoven played the blues.


Brother Stephen haunts the cloisters at the dimming of each day

Wondering why it seems much harder every time he kneels to pray

How he’d longed to be a painter since the days he was a boy

But the voice of God spoke louder than the canvas and the oils.

When he gave his life to Jesus Christ his soul was in despair

It knew that seeing was believing- and artist’s brush could put it there

A life imprisoned in small Chapters – dreams and colours died unused

As Mozart Handled lovers and Beethoven played the blues.


So many songs in need of waking, so many poems need to be scanned

So many landscapes lie awaiting knowing brush and clever hand

But the piper only leads the band – all his brothers must be paid

Beware the ferryman who leads the life and soul on separate ways

And as Kavanagh dreamed his life away still his soul was not alone

Wandering Baggot Street and Raglan Road with the Gods of Sound and Stone

And they passed the tattered banner on in the game of win or lose

While Mozart Handled lovers and Beethoven played the blues.

Repeat last two lines



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