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