This is the calendarnThese are the datesnYou know you'll be, you won't know what you'll seenThe routes might change so all that remainsnIs the pull from place to placennWe left our homes in the spring sunshinenThings came alive when I knew they weren't minenFalling in line didn't matter at allnWe knew we'd go when we each heard the callnnThis is the calendarnThese are the datesnYou know you'll be, you won't know what you'll seenThe routes might change so all that remainsnIs the pull from place to placennThe pylons found fault lines to run through the heartnThe heart of the land beat with odd fits and startsnSo they ran round the oldest and grey of the hillsnSo as to let the old die without power or pillsnnThis is the calendarnThese are the datesnYou know you'll be, you won't know what you'll seenThe routes might change so all that remainsnIs the pull from place to placennDublin to Cork though you never heard toldnThere's a line of good men with eyes wet and boldnWhere they weep for the crows bearing twigs for the nestnChanging the shape of the trees they loved bestnnThis is the calendarnThese are the datesnYou know you'll be, you won't know what you'll seenThe routes might change so all that remainsnIs the pull from place to placennThe ghost of O'Donahue scared not the ladnWho in desert respect lost the smile he borne gladnSat quite chief and folorn and pitched with the spectrenEscaped all exhaustions and prayers from the rectornAnd with glancing devout pulled a frown from his sacknWeighed with loaves from the oven and ale from the racknnThis is the calendarnThese are the datesnYou know you'll be, you won't know what you'll seenThe routes might change so all that remainsnIs the pull from place to placennIn the last days of my lifenOh I won't know whether to laugh or crynnIn the last days of my lifenOh I won't know whether to laugh or crynnIn the last days of my lifenOh I won't know whether to laugh or cry