Songtexte Raglan Road - The Chieftains , Van Morrison
                                                On 
                                                Raglan 
                                                Road 
                                                on 
                                                an 
                                                Autumn 
                                                Day,
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                saw 
                                                her 
                                                first 
                                                and 
                                                knew
 
                                    
                                
                                                That 
                                                her 
                                                dark 
                                                hair 
                                                would 
                                                weave 
                                                    a 
                                                snare
 
                                    
                                
                                                That 
                                                    I 
                                                may 
                                                one 
                                                day 
                                                rue.
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                saw 
                                                the 
                                                danger, 
                                                yet 
                                                    I 
                                                walked
 
                                    
                                
                                                Along 
                                                the 
                                                enchanted 
                                                way
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                    I 
                                                said 
                                                let 
                                                grief 
                                                be 
                                                    a 
                                                falling 
                                                leaf
 
                                    
                                
                                                At 
                                                the 
                                                dawning 
                                                of 
                                                the 
                                                day.
 
                                    
                                
                                                On 
                                                Grafton 
                                                Street 
                                                in 
                                                November,
 
                                    
                                
                                                We 
                                                tripped 
                                                lightly 
                                                along 
                                                the 
                                                ledge
 
                                    
                                
                                                Of 
                                                    a 
                                                deep 
                                                ravine 
                                                where 
                                                can 
                                                be 
                                                seen
 
                                    
                                
                                                The 
                                                worst 
                                                of 
                                                passions 
                                                pledged.
 
                                    
                                
                                                The 
                                                Queen 
                                                of 
                                                Hearts 
                                                still 
                                                baking 
                                                tarts
 
                                    
                                
                                                And 
                                                    I 
                                                not 
                                                making 
                                                hay,
 
                                    
                                
                                                Well 
                                                    I 
                                                loved 
                                                too 
                                                much; 
                                                by 
                                                such 
                                                and 
                                                such
 
                                    
                                
                                                Is 
                                                happiness 
                                                thrown 
                                                away.
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                gave 
                                                her 
                                                the 
                                                gifts 
                                                of 
                                                the 
                                                mind.
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                gave 
                                                her 
                                                the 
                                                secret 
                                                sign
 
                                    
                                
                                                That's 
                                                known 
                                                to 
                                                all 
                                                the 
                                                artists 
                                                who 
                                                have
 
                                    
                                
                                                Known 
                                                true 
                                                Gods 
                                                of 
                                                Sound 
                                                and 
                                                Time.
 
                                    
                                
                                                With 
                                                word 
                                                and 
                                                tint 
                                                    I 
                                                did 
                                                not 
                                                stint.
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                gave 
                                                her 
                                                reams 
                                                of 
                                                poems 
                                                to 
                                                say
 
                                    
                                
                                                With 
                                                her 
                                                own 
                                                dark 
                                                hair 
                                                and 
                                                her 
                                                own 
                                                name 
                                                there
 
                                    
                                
                                                Like 
                                                the 
                                                clouds 
                                                over 
                                                fields 
                                                of 
                                                May.
 
                                    
                                
                                                On 
                                                    a 
                                                quiet 
                                                street 
                                                where 
                                                old 
                                                ghosts 
                                                meet,
 
                                    
                                
                                                    I 
                                                see 
                                                her 
                                                walking 
                                                now 
                                                away 
                                                from 
                                                me,
 
                                    
                                
                                                So 
                                                hurriedly. 
                                                My 
                                                reason 
                                                must 
                                                allow,
 
                                    
                                
                                                For 
                                                    I 
                                                have 
                                                wooed, 
                                                not 
                                                as 
                                                    I 
                                                should
 
                                    
                                
                                                    A 
                                                creature 
                                                made 
                                                of 
                                                clay.
 
                                    
                                
                                                When 
                                                the 
                                                angel 
                                                woos 
                                                the 
                                                clay, 
                                                he'll 
                                                lose
 
                                    
                                
                                                His 
                                                wings 
                                                at 
                                                the 
                                                dawn 
                                                of 
                                                the 
                                                day.
 
                                    
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