All my whistles are in their cases,
All my hair has turned to gray,
All the crowd's naught but empty spaces
It's time I was on my way.
Another good night, and I'll be leaving,
To another session, another show.
It's a wonder I still believe in
The turning of the road.
At the turning of the road,
Well, you never know what you'll see.
I might play in a ceilidh band,
Or it might be only me.
I'll play the best I've ever played
And lighten up their load,
And I might just see my sweetheart
At the turning of the road.
Well, I've whistled at wakes and weddings
And far more ceilidhs than I can recall.
And I've slept in peculiar beddings
And eaten pub food or none at all.
I've watched them dancing unabated,
Joined by sweethearts and family.
Was it worth all that I've traded
To be a minstrel and free?
Emerald Rose 2005
Arthur Hinds - Vocal, guitar
Larry Morris - pennywhistle
Brian (Logan) Sullivan - guitars
Clyde Gilbert - bass
I had a sweetheart; she was a weaver.
But the road called me to play.
While I was whistling, she caught a fever.
When she died, I was away.
And as the darkness comes to find me,
From my whistles I resign.
I hear her singing, soft and kindly,
Feel her warm hands rest in mine.