| The sun was settin' the rocks on fire
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| The fields blisterin' with the heat
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| When the militia came marchin' through our town
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| Knockin' sparks off the little streets
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| The priest watched them from his front door
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| The sweat sparklin' on his skin
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| When they burned his little chapel down
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| He grabbed his missal and his gun
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| I must go down to Wexford town
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| Where the lightnin cracks the air
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| And the people sing of freedom
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| They’ve banished all despair
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| The coward dies a million times
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| The freeman dies just once
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| So here’s to you revolution
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| May your flame keep burnin' 'til
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| We meet our Armageddon
|
| Up high on Vinegar Hill
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| The priest’s name was Citizen Murphy
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| I didn’t like him much
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| He didn’t believe in the rights of man
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| Just the power of the Catholic Church
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| But I never saw a man as brave
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| I’d follow him to hell
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| Or to death in Enniscorthy
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| On that godforsaken hill
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| Fr. |
| Murphy:
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| «I get down on my knees everyday
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| And I pray to my God
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| But his face he has turned away
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| From his people
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| I have racked my brains for a compromise
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| But to what end?
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| Only one question remains
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| Why have you deserted me, Oh Christ?
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| The Bishop advises that all arms must be surrendered
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| Leaving ourselves defenseless
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| Against His Majesty and His royal plunderers
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| But if the Bishop be a pawn
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| I must ask myself whether it is better
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| To die like a dog in a ditch
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| Or rise up with my people — the poor against the rich?
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| I return to my prayers
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| And reflect upon Your tortured lips
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| But not a word do I hear
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| Just a veil of silence around the crucifix
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| And I remember the Bishop’s words
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| «When faith is gone, all hope is lost»
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| Well, so be it
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| I will rise up with my people
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| And to hell with the eternal cost!"
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| The sun beat down on the fields of corn
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| The sweat was in our eyes
|
| When we heard the militia approachin'
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| With their trumpets and their fifes
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| The priest rode by on his silver horse
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| The fire had cleansed his soul
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| He said «let's strike a blow for freedom, boys,»
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| Then we blew that scum right off the road
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| I must go down to Wexford town
|
| Where the lightnin' cracks the air
|
| And the people sing of freedom
|
| They’ve banished all despair
|
| The coward dies a million times
|
| The freeman dies just once
|
| So here’s to you revolution
|
| May your flame keep burnin' 'til
|
| We meet our Armageddon
|
| Up high — on Vinegar Hill |