| The man was all shot through that came to day into the Barrack Square
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| And a soldier I, I am not proud to say that we killed him there
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| They brought him from the prison hospital and to see him in that chair
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| I swear his smile would, would far more quickly call a man to prayer
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| Maybe, maybe I don’t understand this thing that makes these rebels die
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| Yet all men love freedom and a spring clear in the sky
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| I wouldn’t do this deed again for all that I hold by
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| As I gazed down my rifle at his breast but then, then a soldier I.
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| They say he was different, kindly too apart from all the rest.
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| A lover of the poor-his wounds ill dressed.
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| He faced us like a man who knew a greater pain
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| Than blows or bullets ere the world began: died he in vain
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| Ready, Present, and him just smiling, Christ I felt my rifle shake
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| His wounds all open and around his chair a pool of blood
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| And I swear his lips said, «fire"before my rifle shot that cursed lead
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| And I, I was picked to kill a man like that, James Connolly
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| A great crowd had gathered outside of Kilmainham
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| Their heads all uncovered, they knelt to the ground.
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| For inside that grim prison
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| Lay a great Irish soldier
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| His life for his country about to lay down.
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| He went to his death like a true son of Ireland
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| The firing party he bravely did face
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| Then the order rang out: Present arms and fire
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| James Connolly fell into a ready-made grave
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| The black flag was hoisted, the cruel deed was over
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| Gone was the man who loved Ireland so well
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| There was many a sad heart in Dublin that morning
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| When they murdered James Connolly-. |
| the Irish rebel |