5th May 1981

[Benignus]

Lyrics to the greatest hunger strike song ever written

O'Hara, Hughes, McCreesh and Sands

Come Irishmen, I pray attend, and listen to these words I tell
For I sing a lay, from a bygone day, for the brave young lads we all knew well
Young lads that died that freedoms light, might shine so bright across the land
For no braver men, has Ireland seen, than O'Hara Hughes McCreesh and Sands

Young Irish men, in Ulster born, deprived of freedon, work and hope
Opressed by ruthless racist laws, that drive men down beneath the yoke
And when the bloodhound comes at night, to terror strike across the land
With their tanks and guns, and poor mens sons, O'Hara Hughes McCreesh and Sands

And in the hell of an H-block cell, where tyrants try to break mens wills
And boots and bars leave lifelong scars, these brave men's spirits ne'er did yield
The words of Christ then came to mind, who would give up his life for his fellow man
And the volunteers without dread or fear, were O'Hara Hughes McCreesh and Sands

For 3 score days these men they lay, under Margaret Thatcher's tyranny
And British churchmen came to say, no clergymen their souls could free
But far and wide with tears and pride, their story was told in distant lands
So your voices raise, we will sing in praise, of O'Hara Hughes McCreesh and sands

Now brave men die, and slick men lie, and weak men turn their heads away
But short is the hour of those in power, who truth and rights of men betray
But the fight will go on and will not be done, while man is unfree in this fair land
And in freedoms days we will sing in praise, of O'Hara Hughes McCreesh and Sands

38 years today, never forgotten RIP Bobby Sands

 

[1888]

There's an inner thing in every man,
Do you know this thing my friend?
It has withstood the blows of a million years,
And will do so to the end.

It was born when time did not exist,
And it grew up out of life,
It cut down evil's strangling vines,
Like a slashing searing knife.

It lit fires when fires were not,
And burnt the mind of man,
Tempering leandened hearts to steel,
From the time that time began.

It wept by the waters of Babylon,
And when all men were a loss,
It screeched in writhing agony,
And it hung bleeding from the Cross.

It died in Rome by lion and sword,
And in defiant cruel array,
When the deathly word was 'Spartacus'
Along with Appian Way.

It marched with Wat the Tyler's poor,
And frightened lord and king,
And it was emblazoned in their deathly stare,
As e'er a living thing.

It smiled in holy innocence,
Before conquistadors of old,
So meek and tame and unaware,
Of the deathly power of gold.

It burst forth through pitiful Paris streets,
And stormed the old Bastille,
And marched upon the serpent's head,
And crushed it 'neath its heel.

It died in blood on Buffalo Plains,
And starved by moons of rain,
Its heart was buried in Wounded Knee,
But it will come to rise again.

It screamed aloud by Kerry lakes,
As it was knelt upon the ground,
And it died in great defiance,
As they coldly shot it down.

It is found in every light of hope,
It knows no bounds nor space
It has risen in red and black and white,
It is there in every race.

It lies in the hearts of heroes dead,
It screams in tyrants' eyes,
It has reached the peak of mountains high,
It comes searing 'cross the skies.

It lights the dark of this prison cell,
It thunders forth its might,
It is 'the undauntable thought', my friend,
That thought that says 'I'm right! '

 

[Benignus]

Nice one 1888, The Rhythm of Time is one of my favourite pieces of work by the great man