| We stood on the shoulders of giants
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| Like atlas with the burden of faith
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| We clasped our hands in praise
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| Of a conqueror’s right to tyranny
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| This is a language that has not passed
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| Our lips in one thousand years
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| So heretics I call to you
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| Partisans stand as one
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| Rebels raise your voices
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| If not then all is lost
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| This is the death of the Republic and make no mistake
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| The senate is lost and Zeus is laughing
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| So Mars God of war can you hurl a lightning bolt
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| To smash the temple of the blind
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| The Tiber is over flowing with the blood of innocent men
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| And so we stood, among thieves, liars and murderers
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| Whose names shall live in eternal rest and infamy
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| Disgraced kings enshrined with their pious men
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| Who ruled us all with the bloodied spear of destiny
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| You knew my name before I was born
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| You knew my death from the moment it passed my lips
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| This is the death of the Republic
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| Dead and gone with Pearse in the grave
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| Haunted to the end by the ghosts of Connolly’s army
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| Skeletal fingers on the trigger of Collins' demise
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| And Parnell’s dreams are turned to nothing but dust
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| «And I say to my people’s masters: beware, beware of the
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| thing that is coming, beware of the risen people, who shall
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| take what we would not give.
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| Did ye think to conquer the people, or that law is stronger
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| than life and than men’s desire to be free?» |