I knew before he even told me   The course he tore out across the county   And a face as sweet as that never lies   His footfalls ring like the cries of broken-hearted women   And knocked-out girls   As he strides into the pub   Both hands bare like swindled customers   Honest as he seems to say      Two beers, what have I done   Two years, my god what have I done   Ten beers, what have I done   Ten years, my god what have I done      Call me a tyrant, he says   But all I'm left with in this world   Is a sober lip now where once there was a drunken smile   And all they ever do is walk away from me   All they ever do is dance towards the door   Singing in the evening at my lonely back once more   A song I've heard for ten long years      Ten years, what have I done      Western towns, they lace his drinks with dreams   Of western women's hearths aglow, agleam   No rhyme or reason to the gait   That carries his old clothes from noon till late   From Clifden to Rosmuc in a liteace or a truck      The canvas on my back collects this trouble daily