(chorus:)

You dance like you're drunk but you sing like you're sober 

You pulled the last pint when the party was over 

When you're alone and you lie in your bed. 

The rain on the roof is the dance of the dead. 



The boys from the Bronx and Belturbet, Bundoran, 

Brighton and Bray, they're all shouting and brawling 

They're routing reflection, a kiss or a sigh 

To forget or recall the old days long gone by. 

And it's up in the morning, and after the evening 

The wordless goodbye and the silently leaving 

You turned on your side, and the dream in the bed 

Was a far distant cry from the one in your head. 



(chorus)



Chimeras and fantasies merging together 

And thoughts of a life of a far-different feather 

They brought us to where we are – now that we're here 

Is it better or worse than we hoped and we feared? 

Pioneers, drunkards, pilgrims and rovers, 

Bridges of bone and of gold to cross over 

The beckoning bar with its circle of light 

And the voice and the laugh that ring out in the night.