They said it would be hard to find
they said I might not find it at all
I started off in Dun Laoghaire
my back pressed against an old stone wall
in a Martello tower near Sandymount Strand
he said it was the centre of the world
that’s where the great adventure started
just himself and a Galway girl

Looking for James
looking for James Joyce’s grave

People say he rewrote the English language
though it was not strictly his native tongue
and many have tried since this tall skinny man put pen to paper
confused and delighted and disturbed and excited everyone
you know his country just couldn’t hold him
Samuel Beckett, Oscar Wilde, Yeats and Swift too
now it’s up to us in these enlightened days
that’s all of us, me and you should go

Looking for James
looking for James Joyce’s grave

He travelled round Europe pursued by debt
I found his grave out in Switzerland
in a neutral country in 1941in a land fit for exiles
where the light was at last shut out from his eyes
I asked at the hotel they didn’t know
told me to go to the train station
at the train station they told me to go to information
and information mentioned a zoo and a beautiful view of the city

On the way I saw a dog as small as a mouse
I saw a dog as big as a house
I saw a puppet playing 'Lucille’ by Little Richard in a market square
and hundreds and thousands of tiny black and white ballroom dancers
whirling sporadically and magnetically in a shop window

On the way I stopped off in a bar café
brimming full of beautiful black-clothed syringe-stoned people
playing dice backgammon round splintered tables
anarchist literature on the floor
expressionist art on the wall and
death metal raging from a cracked speaker in the corner

Looking for James
looking for James Joyce’s grave

I finally found his grave
high on a hill just beside the zoo
with a beautiful view of the city
first I saw the statue
cigarette smoking keeper and crucifier
of our country’s conscience
and all of our unconscience
in an autumn crescent
of gold green and brown
I brushed the fallen leaves
off the inscription plaque
which was just beside the zoo
and it had such a beautiful view of the city

Looking for James
looking for James Joyce’s grave

I remember writing this song
back page of the evening paper
my home city in the rain
lights coming on
Saturday evening
I was ready to go looking again

Looking for James
looking for James Joyce’s grave

The soul of the country
lies in the heart of the river
for love wanders there
pale flowers on his mantle
dead leaves on his hair