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| Pogues If I Should Fall From Grace With God Sit Down By The Fire Sit down by the fire And I'll tell you a story To send you away to your bed Of the things You hear creeping When everyone's sleeping And you wish you Were out here instead It isn't the mice in the wall It isn't the wind in the well But each night they march Out of that hole in the wall Passing through on their way Out of hell They're the things that You see when you wake up and scream The cold things that follow you Down the Boreen They live in the small wing of Trees on the hill Up at the top of the field And they dance on the rain And they dance on the wind They tap on the window When no-one is in And if ever you see them Pretend that you're dead Or they'll bite off your head They'll rip out your liver And dance on your neck They dance on your head They dance on your chest And they give you the cramp And the cholic for jest They're in the things that You see when you wake up and scream The cold things that follow you Down the Boreen They live in the small wing of Trees on the hill Up at the top of the field They play on the wind They sing in the rain They dance on your eyes They dance in your brain Remember this place It's damp and it is cold The best place on earth But it's dark and it's old So lie near the wall And cover your head Good night and God bless Now fuck off to bed |
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