Our young hearts are born with grief
And we have paid the penalty of truth
A season, of our stolen youth
Shall teach old hearts to break
It feels like I've been here before
Here, where the animals lay down to die
So we stand, alone on a distant store
Our broken spirits in rags and tatters
Our broken spirits and rags in tatters
With knot and muscle and heart and brain
They are lost to Ireland, they are lost in vain
So you pause, and you can, almost hear
The sounds, they echo down through the ages
The creak, of the burial cart
Hear the humiliation and sorrow
Mouth fixed with indignation
So one is driven to enslave
Oh god, that bread should be so dear
And human flesh so cheap
Our young hearts are born with such grief
And we have paid the penalty of truth
The season, of our stolen youth
Shall teach old hearts to break
It feels like I've been here before
Here, where the animals lay down to die
So we stood, alone on a distant shore
Broken spirits, in rags and tatters
Our broken spirits and rags in tatters

KORREKTUREN ÃœBERMITTELN