Luyện nghe bài hát Slainte Mhath

A held over a candle in angst-fuelled bravado
A trail scores a moist stretched palm
Trapped in the indecision of another fine
And you sit and ask me to tell you the story so far
is the story so far

Shuffling your dealing your doodles in margins
You scrawl out poems across a beer-mat or two
And when you the point of grave creation
They turn round and ask you to them the story so far

is the story so far

And you listen a tear in your eye
To their and betrayals and your only reply
Is slinte

Princes in exile raising the drambuie
their anecdotes tired from old campaigns
Holding their own last commanding attention
We sit and listen to all of the story so far

This is the so far

Take it away, it away, take it away, take me away

From the dreams on the wire at flanders and bilston glen
From a clydesdale rusts from the tears of it's broken men
From the realisation that all been left behind
Is to stand like our fathers us in the firing line
Waiting on the whistle to blow, we stand waiting
On the whistle to
They promised us miracles, and the whistle blows
Broken promises, and the still blows
The whistle still