(RenshawYarrow)

They build bombs and aim their pistols in the shadow of the cross

And they swear an oath of vengeance to the martyrs they have lost

But they pray for peace on Sundays with a rosary in each hand

It's long memories and short tempers that have cursed poor Ireland

It's long memories and short tempers that have cursed poor Ireland



We have cousins on the old sod and we don't forget our kin

From Boston we send more guns and we tell them they can win

Then we turn back to our green beer and to MacNamara's Band

It's true friends with false perceptions that have cursed poor Ireland

True friends with false perceptions that have cursed poor Ireland



They weave tales of wit and magic and their songs are strong and free

But they fail to hear each other, prisoners of history

Orange flags wave for the British to greet the army's clicking heel

And Irish curse their Irish brother for the altar where they kneel

And now provoked to greater anger by the distant royal hand

It's old hatreds and young victims that have cursed poor Ireland

Old hatreds and young victims that have cursed poor Ireland



So we're left with retribution it's the cycle of the damned

And the hope becomes more distant as the flames of hate are fanned

Who will listen to the children for they're taught to take their stand

They say love and true forgiveness can still heal fair Ireland

They say love and true forgiveness can still heal fair Ireland



Only love and real forgiveness can still heal fair Ireland