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

Ballast cargo contraband

Mudcrawlers

Mudcrawlers

Mudcrawlers

Ballast cargo contraband

Mudcrawlers

Mudcrawlers

Mudcrawlers

Mudcrawlers