| 'Twas on Good Friday morning,
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| All in the month of May,
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| A German Ship was signalling,
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| Be yond out in the Bay,
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| We had twenty thousand rifles
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| All ready for to land,
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| But no answering signal did come
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| From the lonely Banna Strand.
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| «No signal answers from the shore»,
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| Sir Roger sadly said,
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| «No comrades here to meet me,
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| Alas, they must be dead,
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| But I must do my duty
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| And at once I mean to land»,
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| So in a small boat rowed ashore
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| On the lovely Banna Strand.
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| Now the R.I.C. |
| were hunting
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| For Sir Roger high and low,
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| They found him in McKenna’s fort;
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| Said they: «You are our foe»,
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| Said he: «I'm Roger Casement,
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| I came to my native land,
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| I mean to free my countrymen
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| On the lonely Banna Strand.
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| They took Sir Roger prisoner,
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| And sailed for London town,
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| And in the Tower they laid him,
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| A traitor to the Crown;
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| Said he «I am no traitor»,
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| But his trial he had to stand,
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| For bringing German rifles
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| To the lonely Banna Strand.
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| 'Twas in an English prison
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| That they led him to his death,
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| «I'm dying for my country»
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| He said with his last breath,
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| They buried him in British soil
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| Far from his native land,
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| And the wild waves sing his requiem
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| On the lonely Banna Strand.
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| They took Sir Roger home again
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| In the year of '65,
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| And with his comrades of '16
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| In peace and tranquil lies,
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| His last fond wish, it is fulfilled
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| For to lie in his native land,
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| And the waves will roll in peace again
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| On the lonely Banna Strand. |