O gentle bell, which rests within the tower;
The clock is wound to guard each sleeping hour,
Upon the Johnshill Brae where birds take flight, O Presence, Keep us sober, safe, tonight.
O shadows long, which cast upon the gates, Darkened thoughts of hopes deferred and hate, Love, illuminate my thought with golden threads, And give me purer, higher, better paths to tread.
Of youth who drink and dance upon the tombs, Amidst the birds as sunset hour looms, Gentle Thing who always knows me best, Keep me here within your gentle breast.
If your old brow does gusts of snow impart , A wintry breeze does surely hit the heart, Love, show me snowdrops during that cold spell, And fill my ears with dear Auld Simon´s bell.
Oh the joy of the waiting hour at sunset, upon the White Cart as she shines her yellow light to say goodnight
Another moon comes and shines on the same river, like two old men, never to meet.
The hours pass and the children play and scream, while the ghosts of the Abbey chants of the night still heard, yet unheard.
The Town Hall clock lends its eyes and chimes the 9th hour,
The young men stumble home from the pub and the old men light up their cigarettes for their walk home.
faded memories of Victorians in shaded statues, casting long shadows and tales.
Laus Deo – it is done, and higher we are lifted.
The Threads of Paisley
If all the threads that Paisley made were found again one day
I’d hang them in the sky with Love to take away the grey
Upon the gold I’d write a tale of stories from our past
About the folk we´ve lost in time that’s moved away so fast.
Upon the red I’d see the war and all the men who died
I’d write the names of all their wives whose tears we left behind
Upon the Abbey darkened threads of blackened thoughts and times
A bygone age of killing folk for witchcraft and false crimes.
Threads of blue I’d give to schools, to teach them peace and Love
By leaving parts of history, while rainbows hang above
Upon the green, the Irish woe, migration, war and fear
While London pushes migrants out with hatred causing tears.
Upon the white I’d ask the kids to write their stories clear
To fill the sky with hopes and dreams of music for our ears
Upon this richest tapestry I’d paint a heart and crown
To show the world the triumphs of dear Paisley, my sweet town.