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Harlem

I want to go back to Harlem
And walk with Johnny in the park
And take my breakfast with the colours
of the world
And lose this crippling dark
That has followed me
Like a gypsy priest of a gypsy people
‘Til I came to be free as the wind
Running through the streets of Harlem
With the matadors in the darkened doors of
Harlem
I hear the drum of the rhythm people
I hear the heal and castanets
I hear the birth of an Ancient Order
And the brogues dancing to the half set
Gospel songs, lord, to thee
Led by the priests of her people
A far cry to be free as the wind
She’s still the unnamed rose of Harlem
With the matadors and the shamrock shores of Harlem

And from the land of the matador – sweet Rosita
And from the far shamrock shore – sad Roisín
I asked at soul’s door
But none could redeem her
Their words come to me now
Their words come to me now

They bury many roses
They bury many roses in Harlem

Written by Jimmy MacCarthy