I knew before he even told me
The course he tore out across the county
And a face as sweet as that never lies
His footfalls ring like the cries of broken-hearted women
And knocked-out girls
As he strides into the pub
Both hands bare like swindled customers
Honest as he seems to say

Two beers, what have I done
Two years, my god what have I done
Ten beers, what have I done
Ten years, my god what have I done

Call me a tyrant, he says
But all I'm left with in this world
Is a sober lip now where once there was a drunken smile
And all they ever do is walk away from me
All they ever do is dance towards the door
Singing in the evening at my lonely back once more
A song I've heard for ten long years

Ten years, what have I done

Western towns, they lace his drinks with dreams
Of western women's hearths aglow, agleam
No rhyme or reason to the gait
That carries his old clothes from noon till late
From Clifden to Rosmuc in a liteace or a truck

The canvas on my back collects this trouble daily