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 Slainte Mhath
Princes in exile raising
The standard Drambuie
Parading their anecdotes tired
From old campaigns
Holding their own last orders
Commanding attention
And 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
