You’d insist we’d share the driving when we left the city lights
In a clapped out Morris Minor heading west on Friday nights
And the heater wasn’t working and we never had a spare
But we called that old car Flattery, cause it got us everywhere.
And when we’d stop to pitch the tent it always seemed to rain
And it’s then that I’d discover you’d forgot the pegs again
And I couldn’t get the campfire lit not matter what I tried
Don’t you remember……….
We had roadside stops for bread and cheese and Supermarket Wine
When the world was ours and I was yours
And I thought you were mine.
Do you remember Galway Races and the man in Harris Tweed?
Who, because he knew your father, said he’d do us a good deed
And he horse he put our money on, I’d swear it’s running still
And we were staying in a boarding house and couldn’t pay the bill
But you laughed when I went overboard – you told me not to swear
Saying “the town’s full of Americans- let’s go busking in Eyre Square
And the Blarney Stone and the leprechauns will surely see us through”
Don’t you remember……………
We sank Danny Boy in Galway Bay at least eighty seven times
And the world was ours and I was yours
And I thought you were mine
You called me from the airport just before you caught your plane
And you told me you were leaving but that I was not to blame
And you hoped that I would understand and we’d always be good friends
But I knew from what you said that we would never meet again.
But I must confess it hurt like Hell and that I miss you yet
For you were not the sort of girl that’s easy to forget
And sometimes some half-forgotten fragment of you trips my mind
And I remember………
All those roadside stops for bread and cheese and Supermarket wine
When the world was ours and I was yours and I thought you were mine.
Repeat last two lines