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All songs words & music © Ed Pickford PRS/MCPS

Christy Moore on the stage is a eloquent rage

In the eye of the storm he is still

And his sonorous voice really gives you no choice

As you find your mind bend to his will

The tools of his trade are all simple and played

With driving and rhythmic passion

Drumming his drum shooting words from his gun

Commitment is always in fashion


There are song-writing singers and singers of song

They all have their place in the van

But if you want an artist who burns like a fire

I’d say Christy Moore is your man

With the blur of his wrist and the beat of his fist

Christy rattles the bones of a song

And it’s clear from the start that the crowd plays its part

In the art as the song dances on

Christy’s voice speaks as the storm cracks its cheeks

And never shows signs of abating

Nothing on Earth between dying and birth

Compares to the act of creating


Now the weaving of words like the weaving of cloth

Is a trade that improves by the using

As the lyrics cascade and the craft is displayed

Rhymers dazzle the crowd with their musing

Sweat on their brow and their hands to the plough

They’re sharing the fruits of the tree

Music is wine so we’ll dine from the vine

As we swim in eternity’s sea

Christy Moore Song