Our young hearts are born with grief

And we have paid the penalty of truth

A season, of our stolen youth

Shall teach old hearts to break



It feels like I've been here before

Here, where the animals lay down to die

So we stand, alone on a distant store

Our broken spirits in rags and tatters



Our broken spirits and rags in tatters



With knot and muscle and heart and brain

They are lost to Ireland, they are lost in vain

So you pause, and you can, almost hear

The sounds, they echo down through the ages



The creak, of the burial cart

Hear the humiliation and sorrow

Mouth fixed with indignation

So one is driven to enslave?



Oh god that friends should be so dear

And human flesh so cheap



Our young hearts are born with such grief

And we have paid the penalty of truth

The season, of our stolen youth

Shall teach old hearts to break



It feels like I've been here before

Here, where the animals lay down to die

So we stood, alone on a distant shore

Broken spirits, in rags and tatters



Our broken spirits and rags in tatters