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