The last time I saw you was down at the Greeks
There was whiskey on Sunday and tears on our cheeks
You sang me a song that was pure as the breeze
Blowing up the road to Glenaveigh
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 at Shinrone
Their hearts in Tipperary wherever they go
Take my hand, and dry your tears babe
Take my hand, forget your fears babe
There's no pain, there's no more sorrow
They're all gone, gone in the years babe
I sat for a while by the gap in the wall
Found a rusty tin can and an old hurley ball
Heard the cards being dealt, and the rosary called
And a fiddle playing Sean Dun na nGall
And the next time I see you we'll be down at the Greeks
There'll be whiskey on Sunday and tears on our cheeks
For it's stupid to laugh and it's useless to bawl
About a rusty tin can and an old hurley ball
Take my hands, and dry your tears babe
Take my hands, forget your fears babe
There's no pain, there's no more sorrow
They're all gone, gone in the years babe
So I walked as day was dawning
Where small birds sang and leaves were falling
Where we once watched the row boats landing
By the broad majestic Shannon
There was whiskey on Sunday and tears on our cheeks
You sang me a song that was pure as the breeze
Blowing up the road to Glenaveigh
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 at Shinrone
Their hearts in Tipperary wherever they go
Take my hand, and dry your tears babe
Take my hand, forget your fears babe
There's no pain, there's no more sorrow
They're all gone, gone in the years babe
I sat for a while by the gap in the wall
Found a rusty tin can and an old hurley ball
Heard the cards being dealt, and the rosary called
And a fiddle playing Sean Dun na nGall
And the next time I see you we'll be down at the Greeks
There'll be whiskey on Sunday and tears on our cheeks
For it's stupid to laugh and it's useless to bawl
About a rusty tin can and an old hurley ball
Take my hands, and dry your tears babe
Take my hands, forget your fears babe
There's no pain, there's no more sorrow
They're all gone, gone in the years babe
So I walked as day was dawning
Where small birds sang and leaves were falling
Where we once watched the row boats landing
By the broad majestic Shannon
Lyrics submitted by black_cow_of_death, edited by epiwoosh
The Broad Majestic Shannon Lyrics as written by Shane Patrick Lysaght Macgowan
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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I didn’t even know what a Hurley ball was until I looked it up yesterday, and as soon as I found that Hurley is a popular sport/game/pastime, my brain went immediately to playing baseball when I was a kid and there were “tears on my cheeks” almost instantly; brilliant! Rest in Peace, Shane.
I took Cait O’Riordan’s advice and listened to Liam Clancy’s version, in which Liam replaces all the “babe”s at the end of the first 2 lines of the chorus with “Shane”s, and wow, that had quite an effect on me, hearing it for the first time after Shane had shrugged off his earthly burden.
There’s that famous interview from 1989 by NME(?) with Shane, Nick Cave and Mark E. Smith, and I recall in that interview - anyway I THINK I recall - that in that interview, Shane goes into a little talk about what songs mean to him, what he’s trying to accomplish when he writes. Long story short, Shane says in the interview that songs should “hit you right in the gut”, bring emotions to the surface, gain release/relief thru feeling the things the songs do to you (Shane would’ve said it better, but that’s just one of the reasons his death hits so hard; another is that Shane was obsessed with death, in a way. Anyway it’s a popular topic in his songs.). Regardless if Shane seemed to be running towards death - or maybe, just maybe, living your life the way you want, regardless of the noise around you saying you shouldn’t, looks an awful lot like a death-wish, and most idiots can’t tell the difference? IDK. But maybe the media could just stfu and acknowledge that Shane wasn’t anything like “unproductive”, even if he didn’t exactly stick to a Parkiament-Funkadelic-like album-release schedule. A great artist left this world at the end of November 2023. He left behind some new Irish standards for the world to sing, and that is damned significant. This is just one of them. In Amurrica, though, here all they could write was about Shane’s addictions. Weak. Ever notice how many “journalists” can’t write? So I just wave my hand; how could someone who can’t write ever understand someone who can? Human beings are destined forever to misunderstand each other…