| The drinking dens are spilling out
|
| There’s staggering in the square
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| There’s lads and lasses falling about
|
| And a crackling in the air
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| Down around the dungeon doors
|
| The shelters and the queues
|
| Everybody’s looking for
|
| Somebody’s arms to fall into
|
| That’s what it is
|
| It’s what it is now
|
| There’s frost on the graves and the monuments
|
| But the taverns are warm in town
|
| People curse the government
|
| And shovel hot food down
|
| Lights are out in the city hall
|
| The castle and the keep
|
| The moon shines down upon it all
|
| The legless and asleep
|
| And it’s cold on the tollgate
|
| With the wagons creeping through
|
| Cold on the tollgate
|
| God knows what I could do with you
|
| That’s what it is
|
| It’s what it is now
|
| The garrison sleeps in the citadel
|
| With the ghosts and the ancient stones
|
| High on the parapet
|
| A Scottish piper stands alone
|
| And high on the wind
|
| The highland drums begin to roll
|
| And something from the past just comes
|
| And stares into my soul
|
| And it’s cold on the tollgate
|
| With a Caledonian blues
|
| Cold on the tollgate
|
| God knows what I could do with you
|
| That’s what it is
|
| It’s what it is now
|
| What it is
|
| It’s what it is now
|
| There’s a chink of light, there’s a burning wick
|
| There’s a lantern in the tower
|
| Wee Willie Winkie with a candlestick
|
| Still writing songs in the wee wee hours
|
| On Charlotte Street I take
|
| A walking stick for my hotel
|
| The ghost of Dirty Dick
|
| Is still in search of Little Nell
|
| That’s what it is
|
| It’s what it is now
|
| It’s what it is
|
| What it is now… |