*Walks in, carrying a fiddle and guitar and, after inspecting the room for a brief moment, moves toward a large booth and sets the instruments down.*
*Several more trips of this sort are made, adding a mandolin, bodhran, twelve-string guitar, banjo, harp, and assorted flutes and whistles to the collection of instruments.*
Right. I'm claiming this booth as my own little nook in the pub. It is from this place that I will be doing most of my barding. As I do now.
*settles herself in the booth with her guitar and begins to play*
When Irish eyes are smiling
Sure it's like a morning spring.
In the lilt of Irish laughter,
You can hear the angels sing.
When Irish hearts are happy,
All the world seems bright and gay.
And when Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure, they steal your heart away.
There's a tear in your eye, and I'm wondering why,
For it never should be there at all.
With such power in your smile, sure a stone you'd beguile,
So there's never a teardrop should fall.
When your sweet lilting laughter's like some fairy song,
And your eyes twinkle bright as can be,
You should laugh all the while and all other times smile,
And now smile a smile for me.
When Irish eyes are smiling
Sure it's like a morning spring.
In the lilt of Irish laughter,
You can hear the angels sing.
When Irish hearts are happy,
All the world seems bright and gay.
And when Irish eyes are smiling,
Sure, they steal your heart away.
And now, finally, I don't want anybody to be shy about coming round here and singing songs at me, or telling me jokes that I haven't heard before. They don't even have to be Ireland-themed, just keep things clean enough - no need to get disgusting or anything.
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