Where a look can tell you more than trite words ever could
And stepping outside might be the last thing you ever do.
Where vengeance can run deep and old scores can bide their time
Waiting to be settled.
Where violence can shatter dreams and wake men
Sweating from their sleep.
As allegiances can change , not knowing who’s counsel to keep.
Where hunting is done in the confines of the bar
The quarry trying to keep tabs of who the hunters are,
Using the cover of others and with their company keep,
Do you really know who is who
Before you venture on the street?
Where trust is more valuable than anything else you may possess
And betrayal is an end game, you don’t want to take in jest.
The accountant’s a handy man who’s good at figuring things out.
Not that he’s violent mind! He has enforcers to provide the clout.
They all swear allegiance to the UVF or IRA
But go about their normal jobs from nine to five each day.
The Brits try to keep the peace between the orange and the green,
If you’re Catholic or a Nationalist their justice may seem a bit obscene.
So weary men are tired of never knowing from day to day
What their future holds and must needs compromise
To live a better way
Laying old scores to rest but maybe not forgiven
Accepting what has been gained
And getting on with living.