The  last time I saw you was down at the  Greeks    There was  whiskey on Sunday and  tears on our  cheeks    You sang me a song as pure as the  breeze    on a road leading  up Glena veigh    I  sat for a while at the  cross at Finnoe    Where young  lovers would meet when the  flowers were in  bloom    Heard  the men coming home from the fair at Shin rone    Their  hearts in Tippe rary wher ever they  go    Take my  hand and dry your  tears  babe    Take my  hand forget your  fears  babe    There’s no  pain there’s no more  sor row    They’re all  gone         gone in the  years babe    I sat for a while by the gap in the wall    Found a rusty tin can and an old hurley ball    Heard the cards being dealt and the rosary called    And a fiddle playing Sean Dun na nGall    And the next time I see you we’ll be down at the Greeks    There’ll be whiskey on Sunday and tears on our cheeks    For it’s stupid to laugh and it’s useless to bawl    About a rusty tin can and an old hurley ball    So I walked as the day was  dawn ing    Where small birds  sang and leaves were  fall ing    Where we once  watched the row boats  land ing    By the broad   majestic  Shan non