A tale of two cities - Dublin, Ireland and Glasgow, Scotland

O you will take whatever's offered and dream the world's a friend, suffer as your mother suffered, be as broken in the end ...

The Crossans - Hellraisers of Castlemilk
Fierce with our hellraising,

yet fiercer with our love.

FOR ALWAYS, FOREVER, TOGETHER

until Hell calls our names.

He was older than the days he had seen
And the breaths he had drawn.

He linked the past with the present,
And the eternity behind him
throbbed through him
In a mighty rhythm to which
he swayed
As the tides and seasons swayed.

It filled him with a great unrest
and strange desires.
It caused him to feel a vague,
sweet gladness.

And he was aware of wild yearnings
And stirrings for he knew not what.

And not only did he learn by experience,
But instincts long dead became alive again.

Faithfulness and devotion,
Things born of fire and roof, were his;
Yet he retained his wildness and wiliness.
He was a thing of the wild.”

The wild at heart.…

They were tame, they were wild.

They were loyal, they were rebels.
They were bold, they were reckless.

They were friends, they were foes.
They were angels, they were devils.

They were brave, they were foolish.
They were saints, they were sinners.

They were sons, they were brothers,
They were the Crossans,

The Hellraisers of Castlemilk.

Fiercely they loved
And fiercely they fought,
And nothing
between Heaven and Hell
would ever defeat them.

A thousand horse and none to ride!

With flowing tail, and flying mane,

Wide nostrils never stretched by pain.

Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein,
And feet that iron never shod,

And flanks unscarred by spur or rod,

A thousand horse, the wild, the free,
Like waves that follow o'er the sea,

Came thickly thundering on...

A TRUE LOVE OF MINE
My Wild Rose

Tis a wee bonnie lass

That stands here before me,

Carryin' her heart in her hand

Hopin' tis her I'd see.

For you are my Rose

amongst the
thorns of my pains.
For you are my 'bow

after all the rains.

For what she'd be a needin'

Is but a wee tiny kiss,
From me,

her grandest lad
Ta bring her a joyful bliss.
She'd be dancin' a merry jig
And showin' me a grand time,

And if I'd be the smartest lad

I'd be oft makin' her mine.

She's got the rosy cheeks she does

And a grand sparkle to her eye,
I'd best be the gentle man,
And not be makin' her cry.

And as I lay me
head down
Upon me downy
pillows soft,
I’ll be dreamin’
Of me bonnie lass
And there

I’d be kissin’ her oft. CELTIC WOMAN

I heard an echo from the past
softly say come back,

WON'T YOU STAY?

I wanted to reach

you,

let you know I still care
and lost in the silence of my sorrow,

I put a promise in the wind
to fly away to you there.

Catch my love as it goes sailing
and on the winds of the morning,

I'll come sailing.
It's only forever can I say

I LOVE YOU,

Only forever have I lost you.

The Clans of Scotland will never demise,
The Loyalty of such you must realize,
With the Skirl of the Pipes
And the Swing of the Kilt,
Brings a Power that will ne'er wilt!

WINDMILLS

I will indulge my sorrows
and give way to the throes and fury
of my despair.

"All sorrows can be borne if you put them
into a story or tell a story about them.

I start with a tingle, a kind of feeling of the story I will write.
Then come the characters, and they take over,
they make the story."

The Fury of Life
Fury drives us to our finest heights
and coarsest depths.

Out of fury comes
creation, passion and inspiration,
but also violence, pain
and self destruction.

The giving and receiving of blows
From which we never recover.
This is what we are,
What we civilize ourselves to disguise
The terrifying human animal


in all of us."