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CRY, CRY, CRY(R. Kavana)


On the road from Bandon to Macroom, I stopped at Beal na mBlath

Where that black day in ‘Twenty-Two they cut Mick Collins down

For “Freedom to achieve greater freedom”, his hope that might have been

If the Big Fella had only lived to realize his dream,


Chorus: You could cry, cry, cry – cry a sea of tears

              Cry, cry, for eight hundred years

              Cry ‘til your eyes go dry, cry ‘til you go blind,

              But cryin’ won’t change a blessed thing –

              There’s no use in cryin’.


As I walked up past Kilmainham Jail and thought of what went down

When they tied James Connolly to a chair, shot a dying man to the ground.

It’s where they tortured Robert Emmet, where Wolfe Tone took his last breath,

Joe Plunkett he was married there and in the same hour put to death.


We’re an awful lot for cryin’ over things that are long gone

Forget about”Tiocfaidh Ar La” – our day is here and now.

We must embrace it with bold courage, show no uncertainty or fear,

Take our place amongst the nations, let our martyrs rest in peace.

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