Fair Ireland

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 It's long memories and short tempers that have cursed poor Ireland It's long memories and short tempers that have cursed poor Ireland We have cousins on the old sod and we don't 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 MacNamara's Band It's 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 army's 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 It's old hatreds and young victims that have cursed poor Ireland Old hatreds and young victims that have cursed poor Ireland So we're left with retribution it's 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 they're 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