This is the calendar
These are the dates
You know you'll be, you won't know what you'll see
The routes might change so all that remains
Is the pull from place to place

We left our homes in the spring sunshine
Things came alive when I knew they weren't mine
Falling in line didn't matter at all
We knew we'd go when we each heard the call

This is the calendar
These are the dates
You know you'll be, you won't know what you'll see
The routes might change so all that remains
Is the pull from place to place

The pylons found fault lines to run through the heart
The heart of the land beat with odd fits and starts
So they ran round the oldest and grey of the hills
So as to let the old die without power or pills

This is the calendar
These are the dates
You know you'll be, you won't know what you'll see
The routes might change so all that remains
Is the pull from place to place

Dublin to Cork though you never heard told
There's a line of good men with eyes wet and bold
Where they weep for the crows bearing twigs for the nest
Changing the shape of the trees they loved best

This is the calendar
These are the dates
You know you'll be, you won't know what you'll see
The routes might change so all that remains
Is the pull from place to place

The ghost of O'Donahue scared not the lad
Who in desert respect lost the smile he borne glad
Sat quite chief and folorn and pitched with the spectre
Escaped all exhaustions and prayers from the rector
And with glancing devout pulled a frown from his sack
Weighed with loaves from the oven and ale from the rack

This is the calendar
These are the dates
You know you'll be, you won't know what you'll see
The routes might change so all that remains
Is the pull from place to place

In the last days of my life
Oh I won't know whether to laugh or cry

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