The Broad Majestic Shannon

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