| People of plight
|
| You have fought for the right
|
| To rid all your country’s injustice
|
| In a cold prison cell
|
| You serve out your hell
|
| Not knowing the sweet taste of freedom
|
| But tomorrow will come
|
| With a break of a dawn
|
| And winter will change into spring
|
| Then we can look for the new brighter things
|
| But our hopes and our dreams will come true
|
| 'Twas not long ago
|
| In a march you did show
|
| Those old and bad ways must be changing
|
| But you met with ill fate
|
| Those people of hate
|
| With their sticks and their stones
|
| They were raging
|
| But the cold winds of change
|
| Will come with the morn'
|
| Or the wind will change to a storm
|
| And if the trees
|
| Don’t bend in the breeze
|
| Then they surely must bend in a storm
|
| Word for word
|
| And sword for a sword
|
| Is the cruel way that life has been showing
|
| In a city of hate
|
| It is never too late
|
| To see friendship and love start a-growing
|
| But the damage is done
|
| To Ireland’s sons
|
| A flower won’t grow on a stone
|
| And blossoms won’t grow
|
| On the streets of our land
|
| 'Til the right seeds of love
|
| They are sowed
|
| Children of fear
|
| The time it is near
|
| That our land had a change of good fortune
|
| For the struggle and fight
|
| Has gone to the night
|
| And has been there for many a long year
|
| It is nourished with thoughts
|
| Of the courage you’ve shown
|
| And our ship is not lost to the sea
|
| And to the world
|
| Let our struggles be known
|
| 'Til our prisoners of hate
|
| Are set free |