Текст песни
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