text: They build bombs and aim their pistols in the shadow of the cross
  And they swear an oath of vengeance to the martyrs they have lost
  But they pray for peace on Sundays with a rosary in each hand
  Its long memories and short tempers that have cursed poor Ireland
  Its long memories and short tempers that have cursed poor Ireland
  We have cousins on the old sod and we dont forget our kin
  From Boston we send more guns and we tell them they can win
  Then we turn back to our green beer and to MacNamaras Band
  Its true friends with false perceptions that have cursed poor Ireland
  True friends with false perceptions that have cursed poor Ireland
  They weave tales of wit and magic and their songs are strong and free
  But they fail to hear each other, prisoners of history
  Orange flags wave for the British to greet the armys clicking heel
  And Irish curse their Irish brother for the altar where they kneel
  And now provoked to greater anger by the distant royal hand
  Its old hatreds and young victims that have cursed poor Ireland
  Old hatreds and young victims that have cursed poor Ireland
  So were left with retribution its the cycle of the damned
  And the hope becomes more distant as the flames of hate are fanned
  Who will listen to the children for theyre taught to take their stand
  They say love and true forgiveness can still heal fair Ireland
  They say love and true forgiveness can still heal fair Ireland
  Only love and real forgiveness can still heal fair Ireland