The Connemara Fox - The Waterboys

There’s a man on the run

And he’s never been caught

He moves at the speed

Of the power of thought

And he carries the news

In a gleam of his eye

That what you’ve been told

Is a kind of a lie

His enemies number fallen priests

Men of power and the crooked police

Cynics from the school of hard knocks

And a motley crowd of mis-matched other old crocks

Who’re never ever gonna catch

The Connemara Fox

They chased him in Cong

They missed him in Maam

He was already gone

Never giving a damn

Wanted dead or alive

Up the back of of Dog’s Bay

But by the time they arrived

He was leagues away

In an oyster bar playing dominoes

And the only clues he left his foes

Were a fistful of dust, a change of the locks

The words of a Kris Kristofferson song, a pair of old socks

And graffiti saying so long, suckers

Love, the Connemara Fox

He was in Bunnahown

On the day of the fair

When ship-like clouds

Sailed the summer air

And a bodhran thumped

And a saxophone played

As the people jumped

And danced at the side of the bay

They say he had long elegant fingers

And when he was gone magic lingered

A bolt of love that stopped the clocks

From the village lane where the washing hung to the city blocks

The name on every tongue

Was the Connemara Fox

He left a diktat

On the priest’s window sill

It said «Crough Paaaatrick, Sonny

Is the paganest hill»

In the whole lump of Ireland

It shone with green light

That’s why they buried its power

Under Christian rites

And that bogus name to which it never belonged

That you can’t even rhyme in a spell or a song

You’re trying to put life back into the box"

And the priest ran out with a yell in the night in his cap and frocks

He never even caught sight

Of the Connemara Fox

He’ll be where there is music

He’ll be where there is crack

He’ll be howling the blues

In the yard out back

He’ll be down in the Claddagh

Playin' pitch and toss

He says guilt’s an imposter, baby

You been double-crossed

And just when you think you’ve got him pegged

All you’ll see are the backs of his legs

A shadow passing way over the rocks

A wisp of hair, a ghostly snatch of the sound of a box

No one’s ever gonna catch

The Connemara Fox

The Connemara Fox

The Connemara Fox

The Connemara Fox

The Connemara Fox