Eoin Butler: writer, journalist and Mayoman of the Year

Tripping Along The Ledge


On Walsh’s Hill

The leaves run with the cars
The cars run to the town
Don’t expect the night time it will only let you down

Walk on Walsh’s hill
Look up at the stars
The town is full of lights and there are people in the bars

The nights are made of nothing
And the mornings are so cold
The television talks to you like you were four years old Read the rest of this entry »