[INTRO — sparse acoustic guitar; faint bodhrán heartbeat, fiddle entering slowly] Twenty-seven souls and a road running west, Rain on the windows, stones doing the rest. Cameron has us moving through mist soft & low— Nobody quite knows where the centuries go. [VERSE 1 — easy rolling groove] Barry’s tea ‘n’ sausages, Books passed hand to hand, Through fuchsia, fern & blackberry, Across the soaking land. JJ knows the lore, Hugh is talking giants— N’ e’ery time we stop the bus We’re wanting one site more. Moss upon the stonework, Soft rain in the lane, Every hill’s been watching us Since long before its name. [PRE-CHORUS — bass rises, fiddle answers vocal] Round another corner, Older than we know, There’s always one more cairn ahead On the Megalithic Road. [CHORUS — open up; strong melody, warm group responses] Oh, the Megalithomaniac Road, Through the rain & the green we go, Circles on the hillside, Ancient chambers down below. Sea cliffs, cairns & standing stones, Five thousand years of stories told, Twenty-seven muddy travellers On the Megalithic Road. [BREAK — instruments cut to drum + handclaps; entire bus shouts] WEDGE TOMBS! COURT TOMBS! PORTAL TOMBS & PASSAGE TOMBS! [half-beat silence] WHISKEY SHOTS! [VERSE 2 — bass gets cheekier; clipped conversational delivery] Glenn is the Counter— “How many heads was that?” Ryan is the Poet, Catching moments as we pass. Bill’s the World Traveller, He’s seen a thing or two, Cope’s the Snowboarder Who ponders the shadows’ weights. Steven ponders Consciousness— Naturally, he would— While somebody is disappearing To examine one more wood. Kevin keeps on Kevining, One purpose in his head: “Where in Ireland is the black pudding?” Breakfast quest ahead. Then somewhere down in Limerick—Of all the bloody places— Black-pudding vindication Written plainly on our faces. [PRE-CHORUS — playful vocal pickups] Blended vegetable soup, Guinness after dark, Every table starts a story, Every stop leaves its mark. Round another corner, Older than we know, There’s always one more dolmen On the Megalithic Road. [CHORUS — fuller drums, fiddle countermelody] Oh, the Megalithic Road, Through the rain & the green we go, Circles on the hillside, Ancient chambers down below. Sea cliffs, cairns n’ standing stones, Five thousand years of stories told, Twenty-seven muddy travellers On the Megalithic Road. [INSTRUMENTAL TURN — fiddle & low whistle trade a short melody; no Celtic-pub cliché, keep it earthy] [VERSE 3 — pull drums back; cinematic & spacious] Smooth Atlantic water, Dolphins off the bow, Gannets turning silver Where the great rocks split the clouds. Walking ancient circles, Ducking through a dolmen door, Hands against the cold stone— N’ wondering who stood here before. Gentle rain around us, Everything alive, Fern & moss & shining grass Where older worlds survive. Nobody needs sunshine. Give us mist along the road, Give us one more half-seen monument Where the Irish weather rolls. [BRIDGE — nearly spoken; bass pulse underneath, instruments re-enter line by line] Somebody’s counting. Somebody writes. Somebody’s measuring shadows N’ wondering what they weigh tonight. Someone asks of consciousness, Someone wants the date, Someone’s standing in a field Arguing if the cairn came late. Anthony says, “Look.” JJ says, “See.” Hugh’s got another giant Waiting somewhere up the lea. Carmen gets us moving, The whole bus starts to load— And off we go again Down the Megalithomaniac Road. [BUILD — bodhrán + stomps; each line gets louder] WEDGE TOMBS! COURT TOMBS! PORTAL TOMBS N’ PASSAGE TOMBS! WEDGE TOMBS! COURT TOMBS! PORTAL TOMBS N’ PASSAGE TOMBS! [everything stops] WHISKEY SHOTS! [FINAL CHORUS — fullest arrangement; rough happy group vocals, soaring fiddle, no choir] Oh, the Megalithic Road, Through the rain & n’ green we go, Five thousand years behind us, N’ another site to go. Barry’s tea & muddy fields, Guinness, stones n’ stories told, Twenty-seven souls who found each other On the Megalithic Road. Oh, the Megalithic Road— Let the soft rain fall. We came to see the ancient stones… N’ somehow found us all. [OUTRO — arrangement collapses back to guitar, fiddle & laughing bus voices] [spoken from somewhere in the bus] “So… how many heads was that?”
