Sweet Erin you lay far from me, 

in soils toiled by blight and blood. 

Why gaze over us mere children of thee, 

and forsake us like pigs in the mud? 

Free us from this labyrinth of life 

that encircles our homes . . . our streets. 

Entrapped by anger summoned by a fife,

all are victims of division and lambeg beats. 

 

Heal triumphant queen and claim

thy land once more in thy name! 

Bran’s cauldron will silence us no more,

and instead brothers from shore to shore

will abandon the bureaucrats and frauds of democracy, 

that deny us our voice and clemency.