Presence

For some odd reason, I've been having a hankering to hear Frank Patterson's rendition of the classic Irish ballad Danny Boy.

Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.

For most, I imagine, this song evokes images of the rolling Irish countryside or thoughts of sitting by a warm fire late into the night reading an old book. For me, however, this song brings forth images of Albert Finney, in his pajamas, strolling calmy down a tree-covered street, Tommy Gun in hand, pumping round after round of hot lead into his would-be assasins car, until it crashes into a tree and explodes.

But that's just me.

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.

You know, I used to love the blogs. Everything was so fresh and new, there was an unspoken excitement when something new and cool happened. Then, once the allure of fame and fortune set in, folks became all political. Fights started, people joined sides, and all of a sudden you had to worry about offending one of your "allies." People got all uptight about stuff. Things became less fun.

And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me
And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be
If you'll not fail to tell me that you love me
I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.

Here's to the good old days. "I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me."

Update: Of course, Frank Patterson's God Bless America tribute was on PBS tonight. The pipes are calling!