| Song | Slainte Mhath |
| Artist | Marillion |
| Album | Brave Live 2013 |
| 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 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 |