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Young hearts born with grief |
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Shall pay the penalty of truth |
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A season of stolen youth |
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Shall teach old hearts to break |
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It feels like I've been here before |
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Here to where the animals lay down to die |
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So we stood alone on a distant store |
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Our broken spirits in rags and tatters |
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Nerve and muscle, heart and brains |
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Lost to Ireland, lost in vain |
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So you pause and you can almost hear |
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The sounds, they echo down through the ages |
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The creak of the burial cart |
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Here in humiliation and sorrow |
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Not mixed with indignation |
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Someone is driven to exclaim |
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Oh god, that bread should be so dear |
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And human flesh so cheap[*] |
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Our young hearts are born with such grief |
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And we have paid the penalty of truth |
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A season of our stolen youth |
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Shall teach our hearts to break |