Old Casey

Casey the musician lay dying in his van And time was running out for the old travelling man His sons and his daughters sobbed by his death bed Till in a faint whisper their dying dad to them said. Tomorrow I won't see the dawning of the day But I had a good life lived to be old and gray For I played my fiddle at many a fair And I was not one ever burdened by care. Since we buried your mother my beloved wife Some of the enjoyment went out of my life But I had my music my grief antidote And I enjoyed the life of the wandering poet. My children for me I don't want you to weep But John on my pipe will you pipe me to sleep For I loved good music and guinness and beer And I wish to die with a song in my ears. They propped the dying Casey up in his bed With pillows and blankets at his back and head And John on the tin whistle played his dad's favourite tune The one he often piped at the horse fairs of June. One who made the World to live in a happier place Old Casey was dying with a smile on his face Into the hereafter he was piped away And stories of his travels still recalled today In their horse drawn van through the green old country side With his wife and their children he travelled far and wide And at horse fairs and in pubs he piped and he sang And the sounds of applause in his ears often rang. The ways of the travellers like the ways of rhyme Have changed very much with the passing of time And the old horse drawn vans are no more to be seen A fast decaying memory of once what had been. The king of his clan and the pride of his race Old Casey he died with a smile on his face He travelled the roads of the green countryside And for music he lived and to music he died.