| How many more must die now
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| how many must we lose
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| until the island people
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| their own destiny can choose
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| From immortal Robert Emmit
|
| to Bobby Sands M.P.
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| who was given 30, 000 votes
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| while in captivity
|
| He was a poet and a soldier,
|
| he died courageously
|
| And we gave him 30, 000 votes
|
| while in captivity
|
| Thomas Ashe gave everything
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| in 1917
|
| The lord mayor of Cork McSweeney died
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| for his freedom to obtain
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| But never one of all our dead
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| died more courageously
|
| Than young Bobby Sands from Twinbrook
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| the people’s own M.P.
|
| He was a poet and a soldier,
|
| he died courageously
|
| And we gave him 30, 000 votes
|
| while in captivity
|
| No more he’ll hear the lark’s sweet notes
|
| upon the Ulster air
|
| Or gaze upon the snowflake pure
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| for to calm his deep despair
|
| Before he went on hunger strike
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| young Bobby did compose
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| The Rhythm Of Time, The Weeping Wind
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| and The Sleeping Rose
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| He was a poet and a soldier,
|
| he died courageously
|
| And we gave him 30, 000 votes
|
| while in captivity
|
| Forever we’ll remember him
|
| the man who died in pain
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| That his country North and South might be
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| united once again
|
| For to mourn him is to organise
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| and build a movement strong
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| With ballot box and with armalites
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| and with music and our songs
|
| He was a poet and a soldier,
|
| he died courageously
|
| And we gave him 30, 000 votes
|
| while in captivity
|
| Oh the poet and the soldier,
|
| he died courageously
|
| And we gave him 30, 000 votes
|
| while in captivity |