My sister went to his concert after my birthday she got me a tshirt my mom whent with her on sunday it was her birthday

She played the fidle in an Irish band but she fell in love with an English man

Rain is without wet the fern plume ; White the sea gravel fierce the waves' spume ; There is no lamp like reason man's life to illume.

Pigeons on the co-op sign, fog on the hill
Past the schoolyard fence, it’s quiet but it’s still
I’ve carried the weight of these bricks in my chest
Learned to laugh with a limp and still call it my best

The bus stop graffiti knew more than we did
First kiss in the alley, first punch as a kid
But the roads here remember, they echo your name
And I’ve never loved softer than I loved in the rain

From Risca with love — and a battered old soul
A heart full of cwtsh and a half-paid goal
I give you my postcode, my mud and my truth
My valleys-worn vowels, my last bit of youth

From Risca with love — and the girl down the lane
Who taught me that laughter can balance the pain
I don’t need a palace or stars up above
I need boots on this road — from Risca, with love

Mam at the window with tea on the boil
My nan’s old records still scented with soil
Pete’s at the pub, his knees in a brace
Home is a feeling, not a place.

We scraped joy out of pennies, out of cold chip bags
Wrote poems in chalk and stitched hearts to rags
The park swings still creak with some kind of grace
And I still hear you laugh when I pass that place

I don’t need a map or a star up above
I’ve got you, and this town — from Risca, with love

Said, “You carry this place like a song in your sleeve”
I said, “It taught me to stay when most others leave”
You smiled like the hills that bend with the sky
And said, “Even your silence feels like goodbye.”

From Risca with love — where the bins talk back
Where hearts break slow on the railway track
I’ve got grit in my grin, and a hell of a shove
But I swear on my past — this is how I love

From Risca with love — and the nights that held me
When nothing but fog and bad telly could tell me
That one day I’d mean it, with no stars above:
You were always my home —
From Risca, with love

Rain and still rain, dank these tresses of mine ! The feeble complain of the cliff's steep incline ; Wan is the main ; sharp the breath of the brine.

Rain falls in a sheet ; the Ocean is drenched ; By the whistling sleet the reed-tops are wrenched ; Feat after feat ; but Genius lies quenche

Galway Girl

Ed Sheeran

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babybossisincharge

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