Mudcrawlers

An old grey river winds through heavy miles of night A sleeping town, ballast in the hold Flee the famine in coal and potato bins Blood money, three pounds a head We came across as cargo Mudcrawlers contraband Over the side into the sucking tide Just our own hands to guide us home A gibbet against the sky, a blinking moon that flies Up the muddy banks crawl contraband In the foundations of new buildings The bones of Irish families still lie Cork for America, ended up right here Mud and shit dried in our clothes and hair Blind in the morning sun, we walk and then we run Ballast cargo contraband Ballast cargo contraband Ballast cargo contraband Mudcrawlers, mudcrawlers Mudcrawlеrs, mudcrawlers