The drinking dens are spilling out
|
There’s staggering in the square
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There’s lads and lasses falling about
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And a crackling in the air
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Down around the dungeon doors
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The shelters and the queues
|
Everybody’s looking for
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Somebody’s arms to fall into
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That’s what it is
|
It’s what it is now
|
There’s frost on the graves and the monuments
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But the taverns are warm in town
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People curse the government
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And shovel hot food down
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Lights are out in the city hall
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The castle and the keep
|
The moon shines down upon it all
|
The legless and asleep
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And it’s cold on the tollgate
|
With the wagons creeping through
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Cold on the tollgate
|
God knows what I could do with you
|
That’s what it is
|
It’s what it is now
|
The garrison sleeps in the citadel
|
With the ghosts and the ancient stones
|
High on the parapet
|
A Scottish piper stands alone
|
And high on the wind
|
The highland drums begin to roll
|
And something from the past just comes
|
And stares into my soul
|
And it’s cold on the tollgate
|
With a Caledonian blues
|
Cold on the tollgate
|
God knows what I could do with you
|
That’s what it is
|
It’s what it is now
|
What it is
|
It’s what it is now
|
There’s a chink of light, there’s a burning wick
|
There’s a lantern in the tower
|
Wee Willie Winkie with a candlestick
|
Still writing songs in the wee wee hours
|
On Charlotte Street I take
|
A walking stick for my hotel
|
The ghost of Dirty Dick
|
Is still in search of Little Nell
|
That’s what it is
|
It’s what it is now
|
It’s what it is
|
What it is now… |