Song | Slainte Mhath |
Artist | Marillion |
Album | Brave Live 2013 |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
A hand held over a candle in angst fuelled bravado | |
A carbon trail scores a moist stretched palm | |
Trapped in the indecision of another fine menu | |
And you sit there and ask me to tell you the story so far | |
This is the story so far | |
Shuffling your memories dealing your doodles in margins | |
You scrawl out your poems across a beermat or two | |
And when you declare the point of grave creation | |
They turn round and you to tell them the story so far | |
This is the story so far | |
And you listen with a tear in you eye | |
To their hopes and betrayals and your only reply | |
Is Slàinte Mhath | |
Princes in exile raising the standard Drambuie | |
Parading their anecdotes tired from old campaigns | |
Holding their own last orders commanding attention | |
We sit here and listen to all of the story so far | |
This is the story so far | |
Take it away | |
Take it away | |
Take it away | |
Take me away | |
Take me away | |
Take me away | |
Take me away | |
Take me away | |
From the dream on the barbed wire at Flanders and Bilston Glen | |
From a Clydeside that rusts from the tears of its broken men | |
From the realisation that all we've been left behind | |
Is to stand like our fathers before us in the firing line | |
Waiting on the whistle to blow | |
We stand here waiting on the whistle to blow | |
They promised us miracles, and the whistle still blows | |
Broken promises but the whistle still blows | |
Waiting on the wistle to blow | |
We stand here waiting on the wistle to blow |
A hand held over a candle in angst fuelled bravado | |
A carbon trail scores a moist stretched palm | |
Trapped in the indecision of another fine menu | |
And you sit there and ask me to tell you the story so far | |
This is the story so far | |
Shuffling your memories dealing your doodles in margins | |
You scrawl out your poems across a beermat or two | |
And when you declare the point of grave creation | |
They turn round and you to tell them the story so far | |
This is the story so far | |
And you listen with a tear in you eye | |
To their hopes and betrayals and your only reply | |
Is Sla inte Mhath | |
Princes in exile raising the standard Drambuie | |
Parading their anecdotes tired from old campaigns | |
Holding their own last orders commanding attention | |
We sit here and listen to all of the story so far | |
This is the story so far | |
Take it away | |
Take it away | |
Take it away | |
Take me away | |
Take me away | |
Take me away | |
Take me away | |
Take me away | |
From the dream on the barbed wire at Flanders and Bilston Glen | |
From a Clydeside that rusts from the tears of its broken men | |
From the realisation that all we' ve been left behind | |
Is to stand like our fathers before us in the firing line | |
Waiting on the whistle to blow | |
We stand here waiting on the whistle to blow | |
They promised us miracles, and the whistle still blows | |
Broken promises but the whistle still blows | |
Waiting on the wistle to blow | |
We stand here waiting on the wistle to blow |
A hand held over a candle in angst fuelled bravado | |
A carbon trail scores a moist stretched palm | |
Trapped in the indecision of another fine menu | |
And you sit there and ask me to tell you the story so far | |
This is the story so far | |
Shuffling your memories dealing your doodles in margins | |
You scrawl out your poems across a beermat or two | |
And when you declare the point of grave creation | |
They turn round and you to tell them the story so far | |
This is the story so far | |
And you listen with a tear in you eye | |
To their hopes and betrayals and your only reply | |
Is Slà inte Mhath | |
Princes in exile raising the standard Drambuie | |
Parading their anecdotes tired from old campaigns | |
Holding their own last orders commanding attention | |
We sit here and listen to all of the story so far | |
This is the story so far | |
Take it away | |
Take it away | |
Take it away | |
Take me away | |
Take me away | |
Take me away | |
Take me away | |
Take me away | |
From the dream on the barbed wire at Flanders and Bilston Glen | |
From a Clydeside that rusts from the tears of its broken men | |
From the realisation that all we' ve been left behind | |
Is to stand like our fathers before us in the firing line | |
Waiting on the whistle to blow | |
We stand here waiting on the whistle to blow | |
They promised us miracles, and the whistle still blows | |
Broken promises but the whistle still blows | |
Waiting on the wistle to blow | |
We stand here waiting on the wistle to blow |