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