Our Pamela & The Púca Road

IRISH female singer Irish folk-rock road song with an old-story atmosphere rather than novelty comedy, Rolling acoustic guitar, bodhrán, fiddle, light bass & occasional low whistle, Misty, green, slightly uncanny, but warm & affectionate, Moderate tempo with the feeling of wheels moving steadily over winding roads, Chorus should feel like something the whole bus could sing, Keep the folklore earthy rather than fantasy-cinematic, No choir, no huge orchestral swell, Pronounce PÚCA as “POO-kah, ”]

V5.5

[INTRO — fiddle, low bodhrán, soft rain, engine turning over] There are roads the maps remember, There are roads the maps forgot, There are roads beneath the tarmac, Older than our modern thought. [VERSE 1] Stone walls keeping old roads narrow, Laid when carts & cattle passed, Boreens curling through the hedgerows, Built for journeys from the past. These are roads the púca wanders, Where the night can twist the way, Made for hooves & little cartwheels— Not a Mercedes coach today. [CHORUS] Pamela on the púca road, Through the mist with our megalithic load, Where the old ones crossed at twilight & the ancient stories flowed. Round the bend & through the rain, Down the boreen, up again, If the púca hides the turning— Pamela finds the way. [VERSE 2 — tighter rhythm] Centimetres by kilometre, Stone walls close on either side, Bridges, hedges, mirrors brushing, Lorries passing as we glide. Wheel by wheel through roads impossibly Narrow, twisting, green & grey, Ireland folds around the coach, Pamela threads the way. [BRIDGE — fiddle answering vocal] The púca once could take a traveller On a wild ride through the night, Horse or goat beside the roadway, Leading mortals left & right. But if one climbed aboard our Mercedes Looking for some sport today, He’d sit quietly behind Pamela— & let the woman have her way. [FINAL CHORUS — group voices joining] Pamela on the púca road, With our strange enchanted load, Through the mist & through the green Where the oldest stories flowed. Past the dolmen, past the cairn, Fuchsia shining in the rain, If the púca bends the roadway— Pamela bends it back again. [OUTRO — fiddle tag, engine disappearing] Centimetres by kilometre… Pamela knows the way!

0/500