| With blisters on her feet, she walked the road each day
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| Montgomery, Alabama '55
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| Singing, «Justice is going to flow down like a river
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| Our children would no longer be deprived»
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| Rosa’s heart was heavy, but she would never cry
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| For her people she would stand and hold the line
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| Armed with the power of songs and simply dignity
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| She swore, «The voice that would surrender won’t be mine»
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| Woman singing a freedom song,
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| Woman showing us the way
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| Rosa never took that bus, but walked on through the rain
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| She prayed for the power to make her stand alone
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| Soon voices filled the streets from the county’s back rooms
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| Spirits raised by the courage of just one
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| Rosa Parks had a dream and it lifted her
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| Of simply how much better life could be She lit the flame and the fire is still burning
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| Inside every heart that’s longing to be free
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| Woman singing a freedom song,
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| Woman showing us the way
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| Woman singing a freedom song,
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| I’d love to hear that voice today
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| With blisters on her feet, she moved from place to place
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| Outside Dublin city '81
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| Sick and tired of being a stranger in her own home
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| Where others had their comforts, she had none
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| They gave Nan Joyce’s people 48 hours
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| To leave with their belongings once againg
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| But Nan Joyce had seen enough of these evictions
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| She dreaded facing the winter’s wind and rain
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| All her life Nan faced fear and ignorance
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| Saw her loved ones turned away from countless doors
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| With ancient songs and tales around the warm fire
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| Spirits raised by the wealth of the travellers lore
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| Nan Joyce had a dream and it lifted her
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| She stood her ground and held her head on high
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| She found her voice and spoke out
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| So her children could be loved
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| As Irish brothers and sisters by and by |