Dancing to the Chieftains

round and round we go,

faster and faster we spin,

the beat of the fiddle

making our hearts grow light,

the flute ringing out,

like a lost and dear

old friend;

ah these days

will last forever,

for they are all

that matter;

sweeter than the

sweetest wine,

soft and fresh,

more tender then the fairest

young lasses’ lips,

for surely we have passed

this way before;

if only in a dream.

.

.