stewe

Hungriga käftar i din nacke,
så be en bön, fyll den med lögn och känn oss sluka din kropp

Jag tror det är för sent för att spela blyg
För sent för att spela svår
Så jag säger det här rakt ut: Jag vill bryta din rygg i två

Om jag bara fick avsluta storartat
Med pianotråd, med riktat våld
Dina ordlösa skrik på nära håll

Någon borde ställt ut sitt barn i snön
Lämnat det till hundarna
Ett lik, att komma upp i tö

Hungriga käftar i din nacke
så be en bön, fyll den med lögn och känn oss sluka din kropp

Ett helt kungarike lagt i lågor
Bränn ner allt

Sluta, jag blir generad
Av dessa övervälmande ord
Men trodde du helt ärligt att du skulle komma undan?

Klockan har typ klämtat och timmar - räknats
En önskan, i all sin enkelhet
Gå ner på knä och viska djupt

Så be en bön, fyll den med lögn
och känn oss sluka din kropp

Hungriga käftar
i din nacke
så be en bön, fyll den med lögn och känn oss sluka din kropp

Hoppas kräftan tar dig
Hoppas kräftan tar dig med









We stood on the shoulders of giants
Like atlas with the burden of faith
We clasped our hands in praise of a conqueror's right to tyranny
This is a language that has not passed
Our lips in one thousand years

So heretics I call to you - Partisans stand as one
Rebels raise your voices
If not then all is lost

This is the death of the Republic and make no mistake
The senate is lost and Zeus is laughing
So Mars God of war can you hurl a lightning bolt
To smash the temple of the blind
The Tiber is over flowing with the blood of innocent men

And so we stood, among thieves, liars and murderers
Whose names shall live in eternal rest and infamy
Disgraced kings enshrined with their pious men
Who ruled us all with the bloodied spear of destiny

You knew my name before I was born
You knew my death from the moment it passed my lips

This is the death of the Republic
Dead and gone with Pearse in the grave
Haunted to the end by the ghosts of Connolly's army
Skeletal fingers on the trigger of Collins' demise
And Parnell's dreams are turned to nothing but dust


"And I say to my people's masters: beware,
Beware of the thing that is coming
Beware of the risen people
Who shall take what we would not give
Did ye think to conquer the people
Or that law is stronger than life and than men's desire to be free?"








Oh farewell you streets of sorrow.. and farewell you streets of pain
I'll not return to feel more sorrow, nor to see more young men slain
Through the last six years I've lived through terror and in the darkened streets the pain
Oh how I long to find some solace in my mind I curse the strain
So farewell you streets of sorrow and farewell you streets of pain
No I'll not return to feel more sorrow, nor to see more young men slain

There were six men in Birmingham
In Guildford there's four
That were picked up and tortured and framed by the law

And the filth got promotion
But they're still doing time
For being Irish in the wrong place and at the wrong time

In Ireland they'll put you away in the Maze
In England they'll keep you for seven long days
God help you if ever
You're caught on these shores
The coppers need someone and they walk through that door

You'll be counting years; First five, then ten
Growing old in a lonely hell
Round the yard and the stinking cell
From wall to wall and back again

A curse on the judges, the coppers and screws
Who tortured the innocent, wrongly accused
For the price of promotion
And justice to sell
May the judged be their judges when they rot down in hell

May the whores of the empire lie awake in their beds
And sweat as they count out the sins on their heads
While over in Ireland eight more men lie dead
Kicked down and shot in the back of the head

You'll be counting years; First five, then ten
Growing old in a freezing hell
Round the yard and the lousy cell
From wall to wall then back again