Cuch, my darling, my love.
Can you not hear my cries?
The grand smell of Irish beer
A smell that is welcome.
Cuchulainn, Cuchulainn
Crafted as an angel
Yet heaven had none to spare
So they chose Ireland.
Your brogue, your face, your gaze.
Your arms, your legs, your soul.
Your great pen...manship.
Gives me org...anic love.
The moon's vesige tells us
That such love is taboo.
But I'm not listening.
Civil. Disobedient.
I chose this life, my love.
I chose it for you, Cuch.
Cuchulainn, Cuchulainn.
Cuchulainn, can you hear?
I serenade you, Cuch.
Prized Irishmen, the grand.
I feel your warming gaze.
