| The moon it shone down on Dublin town
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| When the deadly fight was o’er
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| Thousands lay on the cold, cold ground
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| Their lives to claim no more
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| The moon it shone down in O’Connell Street
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| Where a dying young rebel lay
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| With his body gashed and his arms outstretched
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| And his life’s blood flowing away
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| A passing comrade soon heard the moans
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| The sufferer soon was found
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| Softly, gently they raised his head
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| Up from the cold, cold ground
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| Softly, gently come raise, he cried
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| No longer on earth can I stay
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| I will never more roam to my own native home
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| Tipperary, so far away
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| A lock of my hair I pray you take
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| To my mother so dear to me
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| And tell her 'twas here by the Liffeyside
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| My moldering bones do lay
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| For it would grieve your heart
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| To see young men shot down,
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| Their bodies thrown into the sea
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| And a vision of light came before me tonight
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| Of Tipperary so far away
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| The soldiers of Ireland bore him on high
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| On their shoulders with solemn dread
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| And many a heart with tearful sigh
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| Wept over our patriot dead
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| In silence they lowered him into the grave
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| To rest to the reckoning day
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| Sean Tracy who died his home to save
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| In Tipperary so far away |