While this one is not a story about the band it is a little poem written by mikey. hope you enjoy.

The Man With Watery Eyes

Wobbling Walter sent the bottle clinking
debauchery did damage to his thinking 
after Saturday’s seventeen pints sinking
stomping a stumble down the road

“Tweedle lee dee tweedle lee dum dee” 
came the boisterous voice thumping
foolish fat-hands fumbling 
for the fit of the latch on the door

then swinging round in semi spiral 
Walter looked up and down the side road
for his comrades, who were wanting waiting whiskey 
if he could just unlock the door.

Pursed lips thru one finger pushed the shush, 
and Walter in his drunken rush 
did not notice there was no one to hush, 
as he pushed open the door

Dragging dirt across the mat 
reached rosy round Walter for his hat 
which went wayward and fell flat 
halfway home along the road.

“Look lively lovely liquor,” 
shouted Walter the lonesome drinker 
luminous lights flashed as Walter shivered 
as fell a female voice from above

Walter once again hushed his hidden companions 
who were non-existent in their standing 
as he gazed towards the light on the landing 
to see if it was the wife who warned

then realizing there were no boys 
for whom to hush or lower voice 
he smartened up and declared his choice 
to have one more drink and no more noise

”I’ve gone and drunk myself a bit mad 
imagining friends I never had”

Walter laughed through whisky stained whiskers
as his hard trade hands covered in blisters 
pulled the blanket over his head
the couch for the night would be his bed

"ill just rest here, sure why would I bother
and run the risk of waking mother 
but I must rise at roosters calling
before they head for mass in the morning 
or ill be forced into going....ohhhh 
I’ll be well to wrecked for that"

“Tweedle lee dee tweedle lee dum dors” 
Mumbled words soon turned to snores

Now Walter wasted no time in winking 
his subconscious now did the thinking 
as he lay fastly sleeping,
dreaming of fresh water from the well, 

Dehydration is a devil, 
restless tussling makes the sleeper disheveled 
for the drinker sleeps uncomfortably wired 
and awakens twice as tired.
And that much thirstier ever more

Now Walter was a funny one
ever since the doctor first slapped his bum 
he cried tears of a rare condition 
that caused one to look with awe

His cheeks so big and cheery still 
would cause the tears to collect and fill 
like little pools perched on a fleshy sill
until they would overflow and spill 
and fall down his face beyond his will

And though he was a jovial man
the irony down his cheeks ran
the tears that came every three minutes 
brought sympathy for Walter and laughter with it

Some say you could measure time 
with Walter’s tears though no-one tried 
he was much to friendly to poke fun at 
and damn good trades man after that

This condition that most found weird 
water running down throughout his beard
was Walter’s struggle through all his years
an over active optical duct of tears 
Did on occasion bring Walter great fear

Generally liked by one and all 
with his shoulders wide and his stature tall
though this gentle giant with tears in his eyes 
would be meek all week until the time 
Saturday would roll around again 
and he would remember his old friend Jameson

and though his wife hated him to drink 
he'd convince her “Its only the one i'll sink” 
and she would remind him of the week before 
and how stumbled through the door 
and he would promise once more
“Solo uno mi amor!”

This was the cycle every week through
Walter would drink till the morning dew
and stumble home and sleep on the couch 
waking with headache and pockets turned out

But every once in a while upon the moon blue
Walter’s eyes would close over in residue 
that covered his lids like a web that had dried
and Walter would scream and swear he'd gone blind

It was these moments that his wife would seize 
a missionaries opportunity
telling poor Walter to get on his knees

“pray for forgiveness to the god above 
repent your drinking and declare your love," 
to Jesus his savior and promise not to miss mass
and perhaps the good Lord would give him a pass

This Walter would do, convinced he'd lost sight 
both physically and spiritually, he cursed his plight
and prayed to the heavens a prayer so sure
then Margret would tell him that she had the cure
a bit of Holy water washed over the eyes 
and Jesus once more would heal the blind,
and this she did, though she knew right well
this residue was no sickness sent from hell
just another part of his condition
but if it kept Walter from the booze than this was her mission

Sure enough Walter would have a straight turn around 
and clean himself up, and head into town
all dressed in his finest he'd head right to the front pew
and praise the Lord Jesus who had cured him anew

Just as loudly as he sang the rebel tunes in the bar
he now sang out the hymns as if he was in the choir
and firmly the hand of the priest he would shake 
promising daily mass, without mistake,
and sure enough Walter would arrive there at mass
though throughout the week Walter seemed to slack

On Monday he'd sit a little further from the front, 
Tuesday his singing became a low grunt, 
Wednesday Walter would slink off to the back,
Thursday ‘twas obvious his enthusiasm did lack 
the same fervor it had just four days before 
by the end of the week he was at the door

How quickly his memory began to forget
the wondrous miracle and the promises set
but as Saturday approached
the bar staff went back to working 
like claws entrenched in his back
temptation came lurking
and by Saturday morning he barely showed up at all, 
he’d slink out the door before the final call 
to love one another as best as you can
by the final blessing Walter had a cold pint in his hand 
and as the first tear would trickle and fall 
Walter would remember the promises all
and stare down at his pint
then back out the door 
to all the church goers
then his eyes would fall to the floor,

But right where he stood
as if the devil had left it
was a twenty pound note,
and up he did lift it, 
“a round for everyone”
cried Walter with a grin
and then the whole cycle
would begin again.

So he continued with his big beardy smile
the tears flowing down in his humorous style
and his songs still may be heard coming from the pub
and his wife still heals him with spiritual Love

Though Walter wasn’t often in mass 
the good Lord still loves him and gives him a pass
‘cause with every tear from his eye Walter would say 
“I’m blessed with this life, a few tears aren’t much to pay.”

Old Walter of Galway who lived down the lane
Has passed on now but his memory remains
and often Galwegians say when it rains
"Feckin Walter is crying again."

By Mikey McCrory