Imelda May – Kentish Town Waltz lyrics on Vimeo.

Music Notation Viewer
 

 


 

 

Italian boys can sing!!
Che bella cosa na jurnata ‘e sole,
n’aria serena doppo na tempesta!
Pe’ ll’aria fresca pare già na festa…
Che bella cosa na jurnata ‘e sole.

Ma n’atu sole
cchiù bello, oje ne’.
O sole mio
sta ‘nfronte a te!
O sole
O sole mio
sta ‘nfronte a te!
sta ‘nfronte a te!

Quanno fa notte e ‘o sole se ne scenne,
me vene quase ‘na malincunia;
sotto ‘a fenesta toia restarria
quanno fa notte e ‘o sole se ne scenne.
 

 

 

 

Switch off that mobile phone
 

 

Singing the lowest note
 

 

CONQUEST OF PARADISE *

mm mm mm, mm mm mm mm mm,
mm mm mm, mm mm mm,
mm mm mm mm, mm mm mm mm mm,
mm mm mm, mm mm mm

mm mm mm, mm mm mm mm mm,
mm mm mm, mm mm mm,
mm mm mm mm, mm mm mm mm mm,
mm mm mm, mm mm mm

In noreni per ipe,
in noreni cora;
tira mine per ito,
do o o omina.

In noreni per ipe,
in noreni cora;
tira mine per ito,
do o o omina.

instrumental

In noreni per ipe,
in noreni cora;
tira mine per ito,
do o o omina.

instrumental

In romine tirmeno,
ne romine to fa,
imaginas per meno,
peri i i mentira

mm mm mm, mm mm mm mm mm
mm mm mm, mm mm mmmmm
mm mm mm mm, mm mm mm mm mm
mm mm mm, mm mm mmmmm
mm mm mm, mm mm mmmmm
mm mm mm, mm mm mmmmm

Bach cantata 147

— Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring

Jesu, joy of man’s desiring,
Holy wisdom, love most bright;
Drawn by Thee, our souls aspiring
Soar to uncreated light.

Word of God, our flesh that fashioned,
With the fire of life impassioned,
Striving still to truth unknown,
Soaring, dying round Thy throne.

Córfheile 9.3.2011

Thíos cois na trá
Thíos cois na trá domh i ndoimhneacht na hoíche,
An saol mór na gcodladh agus mise liom féin,
Na héanacha mara ag scairtigh go léanmhar,
Cosúil le hanamnacha bochta i bpéin.

Iomlán gealaí ‘s iomlán rabhartá,
Aoibhneas ‘s ciúnas ‘s áilleacht sa domhan,
Crónán na farraige ‘dul siar i mo chluasa,
Bogcheol an uisce ag sileadh san abhainn.

‘Sé mo laoch mo Ghile Meár,
‘Sé mo Cheasar Gile Mear,
Ní fhuaireas féin aon suan ná séan
Ó chuaigh i gcéin mo Ghile Meár.

Bímse buan ar buairt gach ló,
Ag caoi go cruaidh ‘s ag tuar na ndeór
Mar scaoileadh uaim an buachaill beó
‘S ná ríomhtar tuairisc uaidh, mo bhrón.

‘Sé mo laoch mo Ghile Meár,
‘Sé mo Cheasar Gile Mear,
Ní fhuaireas féin aon suan ná séan
Ó chuaigh i gcéin mo Ghile Meár.