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Sl탡inte Mhath
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Marillion
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1
A hand held over a candle in angst fuelled bravado
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A carbon trail scores a moist stretched palm
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Trapped in the indecision of another fine menu
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And you sit there and ask me to tell you the story so far
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This is the story so far
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Shuffling your memories dealing your doodles in margins
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You scrawl out your poems across a beermat or two
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And when you declare the point of grave creation
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They turn round and you to tell them the story so far
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This is the story so far
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And you listen with a tear in you eye
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To their hopes and betrayals and your only reply
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Is Slainte Mhath
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Princes in exile raising the standard Drambuie
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Parading their anecdotes tired from old campaigns
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Holding their own last orders commanding attention
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We sit here and listen to all of the story so far
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This is the story so far
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Take it away, take it away, take it away
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Take me away, take me away, take me away
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From the dream on the barbed wire at Flanders and Bilston Glen
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From a Clydeside that rusts from the tears of its broken men
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From the realisation that we've been left behind
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Is to stand like our fathers before us in the firing line
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Waiting on the whistle to blow
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We stand here waiting on the whistle to blow
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They promised us miracles, and the whistle still blows
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Broken promises but the whistle still blows
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Waiting on the whistle to blow
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We stand here waiting on the whistle to blow
Marillion - Slainte Mhath
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