GARY OWEN'S LAMENT My name is Mick Ryan I'm lying still In a lonely spot near where I was killed By a red man defending his native land At a place that they call Little Bighorn And I swear I did not see the irony When I rode with the seventh Calvary I thought that we fought for the land of the free When we rode from Fort Lincoln that morning And the band they played the Garry Owen And brass was shining, flags were flowing And I swear if I had only known That I'd wished that I'd died back at Vicksburg For my brother and me we had barely escaped From the hell that was Ireland in 48 Two lonely young lads who had learned how to hate But we loved the idea'r of America And we cursed our cousins who fought and bled In their bloody coats of bloody red The sun never sets on the bloody dead Of those who have chosen an empire But we make a better life somehow In the land where no man has to bow It seemed right then and it seems right now That paddy he died for the Union Ah, but Michael, he somehow got turned around He had stolen the dream that he thought he'd found Now I never will see that holy ground For I've turned into something I hated And I'm haunted by the Garry Owen Drums are beating, bugles blowing And I swear if I had only known I'd lie with my brother at Vicksburg
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