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An Corn, The Cup is a 2019-song by Viola Macnasach of the Tribe of Sligo, from the album Rompu do Stuif (Quest for Stuff). The song is usually rooted into the genre of Selkie Soft-Rock.

Background

Lyrics (English translation)

I don't want to learn how to love without you,
I don't want to learn how to be without you,
I don't want to be stuck in the middle,
Between Life and Death, being alive and being dead inside.
I don't want to learn sitting at home without you,
I don't want to go out without you,
I don't want to paint the whole town red without you,
For alone it is sad, but three's a riot!
Imagine three girls, having fun!
Not girls anymore, but women not yet,
Together united in making trouble,
Causing Chaos and Toil and being proud.
Proud to be with each other, through thick and thin,
Through boy-troubles and schoolwork,
Through parents not understanding and pets cuddling.
We were almost like sisters, we shared any cup.
I have to learn how to love without you,
I have to learn how to be without you,
I have to be stuck in the middle,
Between Life and Death, being alive and being dead inside.
I have to learn sitting at home without you,
I have to go out without you,
I have to paint the whole town red without you,
For alone it is sad, but three's a riot!
Then graduation came, the three of us together for the last time.
Teachers praised us as the greatest troublemakers,
We wore it like a badge of honour, drank to it from the same cup.
I went to make music,
One went into the Great Woods, after a lad she liked,
One went to join the Army, always tough as nails.
We kept it up, for a time,
But like all great stories, ours was over.
I learned how to love without you,
I learned how to be without you,
I learned to be stuck in the middle,
Between Life and Death, being alive and being dead inside.
I learned sitting at home without you,
I went out without you,
I painted the whole town red without you,
A little letter in the mail told of one's fate,
Gobbled up by the Sea, accident in training,
Body not recovered, nothing to bury, condolences.
The other is a happy Mam, warning her cubs about her own misadventures,
Forgot her previous life, became what we never wanted to be,
Docile and Domestic.
Only I am still myself, or at least I hope,
But then again, didn't we all grow old?
I raise my cup for you, my sisters.
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