Irish Harps

Irish harps cast a spell when played well. It could be that those players are pretty. And they put me under some, kind of spell. Secretly, my heart wants to accompany: Drum to every string, and hope one looks From me, and they'll lose their heart, their key. Oh, Irish Rose, you keep me on tenterhooks. Oh, Irish harps cast a spell on me. The hand that plucks this chord must grasp the flame. And touch the burning that can't be doused. And not even a good strong stout can drain The way she picks those strings out of my heart Irish harps cast a spell when played well. Oh, Emerald Isle, you're the star of my heart. Oh, look at me now, dumbstruck, open-mouthed. It could be desire comes to me unannounced.