(Shane MacGowan)
Sit down by the fire
And I'll tell you a story

To send you away to your bed
Of the things
You hear creeping

When everyone's sleeping
And you wish you
Were out here instead


It isn't the mice in the wall
It isn't the wind in the well

But each night they march
Out of that hole in the wall
Passing through on their way

Out of hell

They're the things that

You see when you wake up and scream
The cold things that follow you
Down the Boreen


They live in the small wing of
Trees on the hill

Up at the top of the field

And they dance on the rain

And they dance on the wind
They tap on the window
When no-one is in

And if ever you see them
Pretend that you're dead
Or they'll bite off your head

They'll rip out your liver
And dance on your neck
They dance on your head

They dance on your chest
And they give you the cramp
And the cholic for jest


They're in the things that
You see when you wake up and scream

The cold things that follow you
Down the Boreen


They live in the small wing of
Trees on the hill
Up at the top of the field


They play on the wind
They sing in the rain

They dance on your eyes
They dance in your brain


Remember this place
It's damp and it is cold
The best place on earth

But it's dark and it's old
So lie near the wall
And cover your head

Good night and God bless
Now $#&@ off to bed