There’s nothing much I’d die for,
for nothing much I’d cry,
but for dear old Ireland
I would prepare to lie
dying upon the fields of green.
Never have I seen it, though tales
I have been told, of heroes, legends
and battles, the glory days of old.
Eire’s isle I have sprung and die for
it I would; before all gold and riches
here, for give me this land never could.
For has it given me my language, my lineage,
Blood is thicker than water or so it has
been said…and here alas the water runs
when in Ireland clan’s blood is shed.
The Protestant against the Catholic,
the Nationlist against them all…the Unionist’s,
and their parties and those English dogs.
And fight for the cause I would have I been back in 1916
when the Easter rising was fighting and dying like
Oppression, slavery and killings, those casualties of war,
they only fought for vengeance for the millions who starved.
The truth of England’s cruelty has shown throughout the years
and even as half-bred Englishman I sweat of Ireland’s tears.
Erin go braugh I shout to all who may be passing by,
Erin go braugh, I’ll ne’er shy away for that ancient Isle is
mine. Erin go braugh I love you and home I wish I’d
be…but there I am whenever I dream, whenever I’m
in peaceful sleep.
Were these arms never meant to embrace thee?
Were these hands never made to enfold ye?
Will mine hands ne’er caress thy face and like
lace will be heart be torn?
I am the child they never knew,
the one they left behind.
No one can rob them from me,
what they left is now mine.
Language, looks and laughter,
their voices echo in through time
and shimmer in the midst of summer breeze,
ancient voices rise.
Generations live through us, what they’ve
lost they’ve gained, what they knew not of,
they have seen what they’ve lived without
we have now grasped and took and when we
stand upon their graves remember they have seen
and captured a brief glimpse of the happiness
that gleams. Their suffering they’ve encountered,
all the misery they’ve seen, the moment which
they’ve hoped for…in their passing it came!
For we are free and thriving, oppressed and starved
no more. All the agony once encountered…
has all but passed away and owe we do to
forefathers whose sacrifice has payed.
And have you drifted into the midst of time?
Do I have to move heaven and earth to find you; if so then I’ll try.
Am I the only remnants of you, this reflection lost in a maze; this body, soul and spirit in which I often gaze.
The form you left behind, this small girl wrapped in sin;
you’ve spoke to me in visions…this life shall never end.
Not until I’ve found you and my soul can rest!
Your suffering continues from heavens great abyss, as you watch
your youngest Grandchild self-destruct in the way you did.
Can any of us escape it? The ties of blood which bind;
I only know your memory shall haunt me until I die?
Have all forgotten you existed, when I’m judged or
shoved aside…they ne’er see you in all I do, they refuse
to look on my “other side.”
And yet it seems the strongest, for blood cannot be fooled,
wishful thinking can lie and cheat you away but in truth I’m part of
Never will I stop, or cease this fruitless chase, I have to find
you somewhere; I have to see your face…for there’s a rebel
in me, a burning fire inside and it never came from all these
people that I’ve come to know as mine.
I’ll never hate ye Grandfather…wherever you have been;
I’ve heard the worst about you but still I’m your kith and kin
and whatever horrid acts you’ve done I’ve already forgiven.
And I promise you I’ll find you and I will not sink as deep and
I will not die young and hopeless in the sea of Isla drink.
You, yourself has kept me from knowing who you were…
why did you have to perish so long before I was born?
All those myths and legends which surround your name,
you could have cleared what has been said, if you had lived
to explain! Why did you leave this world without so much as
a word, a letter of some kind, telling of your hurt?
And out of three Grandchildren…why did you chose me?
To be a rebel, the fighter, the one who’ll set you free?
Do I remind you of you in your youthful hours…was it my
mind or feeble frame that drew your ghost beside me?
I know your here;I see you in myself, my mind,
my longings. And I never sleep for in dreams I greet your
spirit which guides me.
You are not dead and ne’er forgotten, not for as long as I live…
your spirit, your sorrow, your flaming desires dwell still within
And Banba called to me,
those vibrant flashes of green.
That ancient Isle I’ve never seen,
the sacred soil my feet hath ne’er been.
A mysterious path I’m bound to tread, or so
the ancient souls have said. My youthful
visions never hid; alas the truth has been said.
Sicknesses so rich, so old, to myself were
spread from yea, spirits who’ve roamed before me.
Are you the ones watching over thee?
You’re the one I’ve seen, before the pain, before the scream;
It is your face I always see.
Is it to me you are assigned, a message you send to the divine?
Is there some mission I’m meant to find?
Is there a reason of which I’m blind?
Why do you forever wrap me with fear?
To remind me that death draws near, a call my ears
refuse to hear?
And death you came upon me
with such a vengeful vision;
fear gripped my bleeding heart
and begged my soul to listen.
A sickness came, an illness ruined
the man I knew before.
It shattered all I thought so safe
to pieces on the floor.
Reapers stood above me, with
faces so gray and grim.
Satan’s desire was to send me to
fire, but the heavens denied
Courage I sought, in pain my life
wrought and yet I’ll stand and fight…
death won’t draw near til’ its time my dear
and that time isn’t now.
Many a way you have to stray, so fight
and make your life right.