The Broad Majestic Shannon

The last time I saw you, it was down at the Greek There was whiskey on Sunday and tears on our cheeks You sang me a song as pure as the breeze On the road leading up Glenveagh I sat for a while at the cross at Finnoe Where young lovers would meet when the flowers were in bloom Heard the men coming home from the fair in Shinrone Their hearts in tipperary wherever they roam Take my hand, and dry your tears, Shane Take my hand, forget your fears, Shane There's no pain, there's no more sorrow They're all gone, gone in the years, Shane I sat for a while by a gap in the wall On a rusty tin can and an old hurling ball Heard the cards being dealt, and the rosary called And a fiddle playing seandunna And the next time I see you, we'll be down at the Greeks There'll be whiskey on Sunday, tears on our cheeks But it's stupid to laugh, and it's useless to bawl About a rusty tin can and an old hurling ball Take my hand, and dry your tears, Shane Take my hand, forget your fears, Shane There's no pain, there's no more sorrow They're all gone, gone in the years, Shane So I walked as day was dawning Where small birds sang and the leaves were falling Where we once watched the row boats landing By the broad majestic Shannon Where we once watched the row boats landing By the broad majestic Shannon