Finn Kearney left the shop at quarter past four,
Went past Killarney's pub to where he'd been the night before.
The flowers that he left still smelled as fresh as yesterday
And the inscription carved into the stone still bore his brother's name.

It had been years and still Finn Kearney went there everyday
With his guitar to sing a song that two boys used to play.
But the harmonies were missing and his chords didn't fill in;
There was beauty in the dissonance Finn used to make with him.

They would raze the city to the ground, creating such a din--
Every time they played the pubs a crowd came rushing in.
But now, alone, before the stone Finn played a quiet tune
And hummed a somber melody he couldn't keep in tune.