“Urge and urge and urge,
Always the procreant urge of the world.”
Walt Whitman, ‘Song of Myself’ (1855)
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Tonight is Eurovision Song Contest semi-final.

Bryan Kennedy will be singing for Ireland. It’s on tele and I might watch it, but probaby only with half an eye. I need to make progress with “Irish Catholism since 1950“, the book I promised to finish by the end of May.

But I have written a late entry for Eurovision.

All I need now is a tune. These are the lyrics to “Sing the Song of the Growing Baby“:

Sing the song of the growing baby
Ring the cry of the tiny child
Live the wild exclamation
The future of the nation.

Slide over the kitchen floor
Adore, adore, more and more
Shout out the life revolving
Dream out the joy evolving

Sing the song of the growing baby…

Turn past the fridge, the washing machine
Throw those eyes at the microwave
Lay an ear here and there
You are too young to suffer a care

Sing the song of the growing baby…

Slide, slide, the world so wide
Shoulders, knees, palms to press
Lay a cheek against the wood
Lap up the sap, enjoy, impress

Sing the song of the growing baby…