Prince's Street / Follow Your Nose

John SpillaneJohn Spillane 

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John Spillane

John Spillane (born 1961) is a singer-songwriter from Cork, Ireland. He graduated from University College Cork with a degree in Irish and in English. more »

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I spent Monday on Strawberry Hill
Till I fell and I landed on your windowsill
I hung there by a golden fine web
I had woven from a hair of your head

I spent Tuesday just walking through town
Till I saw a gold angel come tumbling down
And waltzing with seagulls up in an elm tree
Where the wind runs her fingers above the dark Lee

Oh will you meet me on Saturday night?
We'll dance in the shadows between the street lights
Between these two rivers I know where we'll meet
On Prince's Street

A sleepy Saturday mornin' on Princes Street
And just around the corner? Christmas
I'm walkin' off a bit of self-inflicted pain
You know how it is?

Three days on the ran-tan
Three whole days - drinkin' me seasonal bonus
You know how it is - when the belly's had a skinful
The mind is willing - but the body isn't able
Well, that's how it is
Just out for a scove - meself on me own
No particular place to go
Just followin' me nose

Just follow yer nose
That's what me grandda used to do
A great man for followin' his nose was me grandda
On me mother's soul - he could find his way to work blindfolded
All the way from his front-door step up on Dublin Hill
Down into the belly of the city - just
Just followin' his nose

The first thing that would hit my grandda and he leaving the house
Would be the thick country smell of cattle
From the dealers' fields beyond the grotto in Blackpool
Led on like a
Like a bull by the ring, he'd close his eyes and follow his nose
Past the stale stench of last night's stout and cigarette smoke
From the string of pubs along Dublin Street
Past the Glen Hall - the full length of Thomas Davis Street

And with the first hint of crusty bread
Coming from the ovens of Healy's bakery
Over on Great William O'Brien Street
He'd know he was at Blackpool Church

Then that sweet smell of molten sugar
The shawlies making toffee apples up on Gerald Griffin Street
Would carry him past the oak casks of the distillery
And onto the Watercourse Road
Ahhh, pleasure

A pleasure - cut short by the piercing, deathly, toxic
Foul cloud coming from the slaughterhouse off Denny's Lane
But then, just for a whiff of a second the subtle scent of sherbet
Drifting down from Linehan's Sweet Factory
Would carry him past the putrid pelts of the tannery
And on to the first taste of human waste at Poulraddy

Turnin' right onto Leitrim Street there'd be no mistaking the warmth
Of the moist malt of brewing stout - billowing from Murphy's stack
He knew then he was on the right track
So he'd put the hands into the pockets - and whistle

Whistle all the way from Poulraddy Harbour
To the Home Farm Stores
Eyes wide shut

And though still out of sight - at the corner of Pine Street
The River Lee and Carroll's Quay would come into scent
High at low tide
Low at high tide

Wouldn't turn left nor right
But keep on straight to Three Points Corner
Where Devonshire Street, Leitrim Street and Coburg Street melt into one

He'd stay right on track
Being passed from scent to scent like the baton in a relay race
Spurred on by the aromatic blending of
Moore's vegetables, Griffin's shoemakers, Noreen's apple tarts
Must be Friday cause there's kippers in Creedons
O'Connell's butchered beef and O'Sullivan's cured bacon
At Falvey's Corner, he'd stop. Stop dead
Struck by a tidal wave of fishy smells from the Baltimore Stores
Enough to knock a horse

And for the first time on his scove, my grandda'd open his eyes
Look back at the eastern face of Shandon
Where half-past seven means twenty-five to eight

Then turnin' right onto Bridge Street
The fine wines and exotic spices of Madden's
Would carry him 'cross Patrick's Bridge
Through the gateway of the city
All the way to work
Just
Just by following his nose

I spent Wednesday doing nothing at all
Till late in the evening the wind came to call
And stood at my window and danced a handstand
The sun on her shoulder and birds in her hands

The next morning I woke from a dream
Of where the fish lie on their beds of deep green
I watched Thursday morning put on its new coat
Of cloud at the elbow, blue sky at the throat

And oh will you meet me on Saturday night
We'll dance in the shadows between the street lights
Between these two rivers I know where we'll meet
On Prince's Street

I spent Friday just counting the time
Till up in a tower I heard some bells chime
I saw a great goldfish take wing like a swan
And told me that Saturday wouldn't be long

And oh will you meet me on Saturday night
We'll dance in the shadows between the street lights
Between these two rivers I know where we'll meet
On Prince's Street

And oh will you meet me on Saturday night
We'll dance with your ankles all bathed in moonlight
Between these two rivers I know where we'll meet
On Prince's Street

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