Last night I tried to sing an Irish love song,
But it wasn't really coming from the heart
'Till my memory took me back again
To a small bar in New Orleans
Where an old man played the violin
And I sang and played guitar.
I was just a country boy.
The old man's name was Clancy.
Clancy lit a fire in me.
He made me sing and dance.

I was young and he had hairs of silver.
We charmed the hard-earned leather of their shoes,
And the toil-worn men from here to Oklahoma
Would sit and ache with longing
As we sang the songs of Erin,
Of warrior priest, and minstrel kings,
Of hearts and harps and heroes.
Clancy's dancing fingers
Wrapped them in a spell.

CHORUS: When Clancy played the violin,
He set my heart to music.
The words fell over like tears
And heaven whispered in the strings.
At night when the bars are closing
And the drunks begin to sing,
It's not the Milky Way they see.
It's the moon on Clancy's wings.

One warm September morning,
Clancy took me by the hand.
He bowed his head and whispered,
"Lad, I'm going home.
The old bow arm is cramping up,
The fingers slowing down.
I can't take another winter on the road."

Three years on a letter came,
Post-marked Donegal.
It had followed me around the world
And found me in St. Paul.
A closely written careful hand said
Clancy played his final tune.
He must have loved him dearly
To have taken him so soon.

CHORUS

Each night when the bar is closing,
This drunk begins to sing.
It's not the Milky Way I see.
It's the moon on Clancy's wings.