This is not one person's story.
It's pieces of many people's stories.
It's pieces of many people's stories.
Tis Christmas Eve in New York and snow is in the air,
I’m standing on a corner and I wish I wasn’t here.
But times been hard on me and I’m down upon my luck,
So I’m asking all who pass if they’ll lend me half a buck,
I know that lend is not the word and I say it with a sob,
For I am not a beggar and begging’s not my job.
We came here from Ireland in the year of 61,
Myself and the missus and our nine-year-old son.
To seek our fame and fortune in the good old USA
And by God, we liked New York and decided to stay.
In 71 the war was on and our son answered the call,
And far away in Vietnam he did so bravely fall.
I know that life is hard yet I often wonder why?
We came so far to live he went so far to die.
It broke his mother's heart she couldn’t stand the pain,
And within two years I was at the cemetery again.
So now I was far from home without my pride and joy.
As they lie side by side in Calvary my darling and my boy.
I wandered in and out of jobs and was often on the brink,
And like many other troubled people I turned to the drink.
I got behind on the rent and the landlord threw me out,
And this cold and damp weather is no good for my gout.
I often sleep on the street in a box above a warm grate
My clothes come from the garbage my food from a tin plate
I live in Bowery shelters too I’ve no permanent place to go,
I often think of the lakes and fields back home in Sligo.
I haven’t seen a doctor in years about this pain in my neck
And I’m too proud an Irishman to sign for a welfare check
So now I beg for money for a room and Christmas dinner,
Won’t you have pity on this lonely hearted sinner?
I’m standing on a corner and I wish I wasn’t here.
But times been hard on me and I’m down upon my luck,
So I’m asking all who pass if they’ll lend me half a buck,
I know that lend is not the word and I say it with a sob,
For I am not a beggar and begging’s not my job.
We came here from Ireland in the year of 61,
Myself and the missus and our nine-year-old son.
To seek our fame and fortune in the good old USA
And by God, we liked New York and decided to stay.
In 71 the war was on and our son answered the call,
And far away in Vietnam he did so bravely fall.
I know that life is hard yet I often wonder why?
We came so far to live he went so far to die.
It broke his mother's heart she couldn’t stand the pain,
And within two years I was at the cemetery again.
So now I was far from home without my pride and joy.
As they lie side by side in Calvary my darling and my boy.
I wandered in and out of jobs and was often on the brink,
And like many other troubled people I turned to the drink.
I got behind on the rent and the landlord threw me out,
And this cold and damp weather is no good for my gout.
I often sleep on the street in a box above a warm grate
My clothes come from the garbage my food from a tin plate
I live in Bowery shelters too I’ve no permanent place to go,
I often think of the lakes and fields back home in Sligo.
I haven’t seen a doctor in years about this pain in my neck
And I’m too proud an Irishman to sign for a welfare check
So now I beg for money for a room and Christmas dinner,
Won’t you have pity on this lonely hearted sinner?
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