I.

“Hail another ale” says the Bitter to the Bettor
“Make mine another cider and we’ll swallow to the letter
There’s a long night ahead, and we’ve cause for inquisition”

The All-Ireland is all over and winter’s settling in
The Bettor’s grown no wiser, his twinkle's growing dim
But he’s a fiver on at Fontwell Park, at Fairyhouse he hopes for a position

The Compatriot turns pale, he’s been here many times before
The Bettor a broken drinker, the Bitter a soaken bore
Relentless in pursuit 'til he establishes your position

But the rain has staked its claim and home is no parade
He’ll say he’d been distracted, he’ll say he’d been waylaid
Besides you wouldn’t describe imbibing as an imposition

He rolls up his drinking sleeves, he revs up his shrinking liver


II.

Says the Bitter: "Young Kelly’s home from yonder with a sorry tale in tow
Shur didn’t he always love to wander, though now it’s laid him low,
But where’d he leave it with the father a rambler til he wed his yellow maiden"

“Ah now, hold on” says the Bettor, “that’s merely an accusation
I heard that Thai approached him in murderous contemplation
A switchblade on his person, cursin' the nymph he said betrayed him”

The Bitter leans to the table with a look of satisfaction
“There’s three sides to that story then” and waits for a reaction
Then glances towards the counter which presently with pints of stout is laden

“I only just overheard her, that Charlie Dixon’s daughter
Sayin’ it was murder, though he may only get manslaughter
But whoever drew first and whoever did worse and whether he was cursed there was no doubt he slayed him”

He licks his lips as if relishing this devilish deceit that makes them shiver


III.

Jump forward half an hour and they’re deep inside the tenth act
The Paddys and the Powers have begun to make an impact
When Kelly’s brother makes his entrance through he side door with his loyal band of others

He has the type of demons you’d need to drive a stake through
A wise and wily fox waiting for his hedgehog breakthrough
Consistently distracted by the treachery of lithe young legs uncovered

He feels their eyes upon him and his orders up a skinful
From precocious Polish barmaid, acknowledges it’d be sinful
Meanwhile thinks of what that bitter bastard said about his brother

He returns to his comrades, he’d always been their hero
Steamed through daring deeds they could only simmer near to
He knows they’ll believe whatever he conceives no matter what they’ve heard from others

As he lays down those brimming Bombardiers they always knew that he’d deliver

IV.

Now Samwat is a Sikh and peace and love his main codes
Says to brooding Kelly “Friend, you’re rolling down the wrong road
Won’t you be a saintly soldier, sacrifice revenge for blissful gladness”

“Well aren’t you quite the silky Sage, though what’d you know about it
‘Tis easy speak of rage when your blessed to live without it
It’s a burden in our blood that makes us beasts, we don’t feast on hate or badness”

“Friend that man’s already ruined and living as a shadow
Dealt his father’s mortal wound when he let the land run fallow
Never did return and so his hatred burned, his spiteful life putrescent sadness”

Kelly turns away and thinks of judge and jury
Of his brother’s squalid cage and the wasted years of fury
Sees it all in a moment of gestalt as pure unfettered madness

There and then, he repents for all like them, the elation makes him quiver

V.

And so a calm descends on this refuge in the damp night
Some spirits on the mend as they spill into the lamplight

Others left to drift alone, abandoned bottles floating down the river