On the road from Bandon to Macroom,
I stopped at Beal na mBlath,
Where that black day in '22,
They shot Mick Collins down,
For freedom, to achieve greater freedom,
His hopes that might have been,
If the Big Fella had only lived,
To realise his dream.

As I walked up past Kilmainham Jail,
And I 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,
Wolfe Tone took his last breath,

CHORUS: You could cry, cry, cry,
Cry a sea of tears,
Cry, cry, cry, for eight hundred years,
You could cry till your eyes go dry,
Cry till you go blind,
But crying won't change a blessed thing,
There's no use in cry...


We're an awful lot for crying,
Over things that are long gone,
Forget about "Tiochfaidh ar la",
Our day is here and now,
We must face it with bold courage,
No uncertainty or fear,
Take our place among the nations,
Let our martyrs rest in peace.

:)