Irish, Whiskey on a little Scottish boat to an island
We've got torches, violins and stout walking shoes
We walk headlong into the high winds that spin around the turbines
We climb, clifftops, we get stuck, we get stuck, we get lost and
Hold on, tight grip, I will try to lift you to the summit and
Knee deep in something, the sun is low over the mountain
Campfires on beaches, rusted up cars in the ditches
and no-ones going home tonight
I found milk floats hiding in the forest
A small hardwood two bed's pushes close together

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