Where once the My, My, Mys and the Why, Why, Whys of Delilah had rung out in defiance around Cardiff, the Fields of Athenry soon filled the void.
Of course, there were smatterings - the odd I just couldn't take any more that seemed pertinent on the day - but Welsh voices didn't unite in harmony. There was largely just frustration as Ireland broke down the door early on, then preceded to do so again and again.
Just eight minutes into the 2023 Six Nations, new Wales captain Ken Owens stood underneath the posts. Hands on his hips, gazing up to the Principality Stadium's roof, he wore the look of a man who had just been told the pub's kitchen had closed after a long day's toil.
14-0 down and surrounded by the cacophony of Irish voices singing of free birds flying, this wasn't part of the plan for the first-time skipper. It would get worse. Minutes later, he would be stood on halfway - unsure how Ireland had managed a third knockout blow before Wales had barely pulled a fist back readying for a punch.
Around him, George North and Alun Wyn Jones tried to inject impetus with a futile attempt to charge down a simple conversion from Johnny Sexton, while Dan Biggar pulled his pack in close to impart some animated words of wisdom.
As the Irish singing grew louder, the Welsh voices grew more agitated.
"Let's have a bit more about us here," cried Biggar, a man who could never be accused of shrinking in the face of a challenge. At times, it felt like he was trying to take on Ireland on his own, such is his desire to never take a backwards step.
"Ken, get into them," Biggar fired off, just as the two sets of forwards were getting ready to pack down for a scrum amid the building pressure. The man who had captained Wales at the start of 2022 clearly wanted more.
At times, that made things fraught. As Biggar took umbrage with one perceived missed call from referee Karl Dickson, the fly-half remonstrated with the official - but the call wouldn't change. He then appeared to implore Owens to appeal for a penalty.
Owens, perhaps aware, that you can go to the well too often, remained unmoved. Choose your battles and all that. He did, at times, try to get something.
One Irish penalty against Jac Morgan left Owens stood there bemused, his stance wide and his hands on his hips. If his earlier piece of posture had hinted at the pub's kitchen being closed, then this was the reaction when the barman tells you the taps are off too.
"I didn't think you'd released," Dickson told Morgan. "And also," he added, like a man searching for more reasons than he previously had, "you missed it and then played it on the floor."
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In a match where you're losing collisions hand over fist, it's hard to get anything from the officials. Perhaps that is why the frustration, understandably, only grew.
Later on in the first-half, Biggar and Owens stood far apart, separated by a sea of drooping red jerseys, with arms stretched out wide like a mirror image. Neither seemed happy with how the afternoon was unfolding - Biggar seemingly calling for more from Owens, with the latter's body language appearing to question what more could be done.
Two team-mates simply unable to quell the Irish tide.
"Let's try have something about us," urged Biggar, pushing his arms upwards in a bid to will his team-mates into some sort of tangible response. At times, he forced that himself.
"Keep the f*****g pressure on them," shouted an Irish voice as Wales aimlessly passed it behind a ruck, never threatening the gainline. From there, Biggar stuck up a perfectly-pitched up-and-under, regathered it and got an offload away for Wales to attack out wide. A rare high point from a disappointing 40 minutes.
The second-half was better, if only because it couldn't be worse. As the match went on, Wales grew into it. Liam Williams' try was preceded by a rare chorus of Delilah that was dripping in blind hope rather than anything else.
Ireland lost an element of control and Wales, almost manically, snatched at it.
Everything was done at double-speed. Were a penalty won, the ball was launched to touch within seconds. The chances came and went, with heads dropping as each one passed.
"F*****g hell," bemoaned one Welsh voice after being penalised at a late ruck. Quite simply, those in red just couldn't take any more.
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