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Sit down on that stool hear the cant of a fool |
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And a strange tale i'll impart to ye |
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Of a time that i lived at the buff of a hill |
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'neath the burial chambers you see |
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One saturday night i got up on my bike |
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To go to a dance in the town |
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I set off at seven to be there at eleven |
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No thought of the rain coming down |
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As i pushed up the hill the rain started to spill |
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So for shelter i had to resort |
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Helter skelter i went as downhill i sped |
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To the trees at the old fairy fort |
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I pulled up my bike be a tree in the gripe |
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To find shelter out of the storm |
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The rain it came down and like stones beat the ground |
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But it was grand to be dry in that storm |
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I was dreaming away about better days |
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When a voice it says dirty ould night |
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I fell over me bike i got such a fright |
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When the ghostly voice bid me the night |
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I jumped up with a start gave the storm not a thought |
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As the hail beat a rhythm on me |
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And i stared at the tree that had spoken to me |
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Not a body was there i could see |
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The voice i had heard not another word said |
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As the hair on the head stood on me |
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And i said an "our father" as i peddled much faster |
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Away from that ghost haunted tree |
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For weeks and weeks after with nerves a disaster |
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Nowhere near that road would i go |
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And from dusk through the night i would shake with the fright |
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Of the tree that had haunted me so |
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Now whenever i go to a dance in the town |
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I make sure not to stop on the way |
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To be there for eleven i still leave at seven |
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But i go by a different way |
