I haven't the slightest idea how in hell I managed to send those. I haven't even had a pint yet. Maybe that's the problem. Anyway, here it is. I think it's also in one of the Wolfe Tones' songbooks.
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The man was all shot through that came to day into the Barrack Square,
And a soldier I, I am not proud to say that we killed him there.

They brought him from the prison hospital and to see him in that chair,
I swear his smile would, would far more quickly call a man to prayer.

Maybe, maybe I don't understand this thing that makes these rebels die,
Yet all men love freedom and the spring clear in the sky.

I wouldn't do this deed again for all that I hold by,
As I gazed down my rifle at his breast, but then, then a soldier I.

They say he was different, kindly too, apart from all the rest.
A lover of the poor, his wounds ill dressed.

He faced us like a man who knew a greater pain
Than blows or bullets ere the world began: died he in vain?

"Ready, Present," and him just smiling! Christ! I felt my rifle shake.
His wounds all open and around his chair a pool of blood.

And I swear his lips said, "Fire" before my rifle shot that cursed lead
And I, I was picked to kill a man like that, James Connolly!