Lyrics

St. Brendan's Voyage

Words and music: Christy Moore
Arr: Brady’s Leap (BMI)

A boat sailed out of Brandon, in the year of 501.
‘Twas a damp and dirty morning, Brendan’s voyage had begun.
Tired of thinning turnips and cutting curly kale,
He marched off from the creamery and hoisted up his sail.
He plowed a lonely furrow from the north, south, east, and west.
Of all the navigators, St. Brendan was the best.
When he got low on candles, he was forced to make a stop.
He landed in Long Island, put America on the map.
Did you know that Honolulu was found by a Kerryman,
Who went on to find Australia, and China and Japan.
When he was touching seventy he began to miss the crack,
And turning to his albatross, says he, “I’m heading back.”

Chorus

Is it right or left to Gibraltar?
What tack do I take for Mizzenhead?
“I’d love to settle down near Ventry harbor,”
St. Brendan to his albatross he said.

To make it fast he bent the mast and built a mighty steam
Around Terra del Fuego and up the warm Gulf Stream.
He crossed the last horizon, Mt. Brandon was in sight,
And when he cleared the customs into Dingle for the night.
When he got the Cordon Bleu he went to douse the drought,
He headed west to Krugers to murder pints of stout,
Down by Ballyferriter and up the Conor Pass,
He freewheeled into Brandon, the saint was home at last.

Chorus

The entire population came, the place was chock-a-block.
Love nor money couldn’t get your nose inside the shop.
The fishermen pulled up their nets, the farmers left their hay.
For the Kerry people know that saints don’t turn up every day.
Everything was going grand till Brendan did announce,
His reason for returning was to try and set up house.
The girls were flabbergasted at St. Brendan’s neck,
To seek a wife so late in life and him a total wreck.

Chorus

Worn down by rejection that pierced his humble pride.
“By God,” says Brendan, “If I run I’ll surely catch the tide.”
Turning in his sandals he made straight for the dock,
And pulling up his anchor, he cast off from the rocks.
As he sailed past Inishvichallaun there stood the albatross,
“I knew you’d never stick it out, ‘tis great to see you, boss.”
“I’m sailing out,” says Brendan, “I badly need a break,
A fortnight is about as much as any old saint can take.”

Chorus

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