Haunting

Sit down on that stool, hear the can't of a fool And a strange tale I'll tell to ye Of a time that I lived at the buff of a hill 'Neath the burial chambers you see One Saturday night, I get up on me bike For to go to a dance in the town I set off at seven to be there for eleven No thought of the rain comin' down I pushed up the hill, the rain started to spill So for shelter I had to resort Helter-skelter I went as downhill I sped To the trees at the old fairy fort I pulled up me bike, be a tree in the gripe To find shelter out of the storm The rain it came down and like stones beat the ground It was grand to be dry in that storm I was dreamin' away about better days When a voice, it says, "Dirty old night" I fell over me bike, I got such a fright When the ghostly voice bid me the night But you jumped up with a start, gave the storm not a thought As the hail beat a rhythm on me And I stared at the tree that had spoken to me Not a body was there I could see I trembled and shook the tree, twisted and booked As the wind got into a scream And I grabed for me bike in that devil's owned night Expecting to wake from a dream The voice I had heard, not another word said As the hair on the head stood on me And I said an "Our Father" as I peddled much faster Away from that ghost haunted tree For weeks and weeks after with nerves a disaster Nowhere near that road would I go And from dusk through the night I would shake with the fright Of the tree that had haunted me so Now, whenever I go to a dance in the town I make sure not to stop on the way To be there for eleven, I still leave at seven But I go be a different way --- Haunting - The Pogues