i.m. Jimmy Knapp They build them big in Kilmarnock, Hew the voice out of stone, Take pleasure in moulding and shaping The skin and the bone. The eyes have been cast out of moonlight, Hands out of lowlands of snow, Tears from a source by a hillside Where celandine grow. There's a silence now spread through the counties, A leaving that's felt as an ache Like a darkening of towns, like a curfew That no one can break.
