Finnegan, Are You Really Dead?     by Healy/Davis

As I walked out through Dublin city
Early on a fine spring morn
My thoughts were slowly turned to Joyce
And to the town where he was born
What would he think of Dublin now
The Muse sang softly in my head,

Chorus
Ah, sure, he was the quare one
Fol-de-diddle, gh-ouwa-dat
Finnegan, are you really dead?

Though Eccles Street is closed and shuttered
Leopold Bloom is always home
Down Sackville Street plump stately Buck
And Blazes Boylan's spectres roam
Sweet Anna Livia flows to the sea
Past Molly Bloom's immortal bed,
Chorus

Down along by Sandymount the seagulls wheel and cry
Young Stephen sees eternity stretch out before his eye
And far beyond is exile that's calling him away
Far from his tower at Sandycove, hard fast by Dublin Bay

And like the seagulls high above, the thoughts spin through his mind
And soars above the city streets that soon he'll leave behind
He's blind to what he loves of her, he thinks he'll shake her free
But even in a far-off land a Dubliner he'll be

As I walked lone through Dublin City, as the sun was going down
Scenes and pictures from his stories fill my head with sights and sounds
Ah, Dublin, how your son has served you, all across the world his words are read,
Chorus