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'Twas
the fifth of May in '81
The world lost Bobby Sands
And nine more Irish Patriots -
All sleep beneath the land.
Hughes, O'Hara, Hurson, Lynch,
McCreesh, McDonnell, McElwee
And lastly, Doherty and Devine
Accepted death's finality.
Caged
in Filthy H-Block cells,
Sands led the hunger strike;
The Brits thought they'd the Irish cowed,
But they'd never seen the like.
Their
British gaolers did declare
The strike it must be broke;
But Sands' comrades stood their ground -
A higher law they did invoke.
Sands
and his comrades starved and died -
They sleep beneath the land;
But Blighty can't get rid of them
Despite their cruel commands.
For
'spite their cruel commands, me lads,
The folk made Sands their sworn M.P.;
The Brits can't hurt them anymore
They've won immortality.
No
uniform or prison garb
Can hide a heart so brave
As Sands - he gave his own dear life
'stead of living as a slave.
On
a street downtown in old Tehran,
A marker bears the name
Of Bobby Sands, who showed the world
That tyrants have no claim.
Though
thugs and quislings may betray
The things he tried to do,
They will not long survive the game
While honesty rings true.
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