Testo Ireland Her Own

It wounds me in the heart although I am a stranger born To see my Irish cousins In division, split and torn The cause they should be fighting for Too many still deny Ireland her own, and all therein Between the earth and sky The ruling class of Ireland Is neither Pape nor Prod Hails neither Pope nor Paisley For Power is their God Their loyalty is neither to Dail Eireann nor the Crown Ireland to them's a piece of property They claim to own You Orangemen of Ireland, Stand up and sing your song But, to a stranger, one thing's clear - Your heroes are all wrong. Your praise is for a Dutchman, You forget about your own Like Henry Joy McCracken, Robert Emmett and Wolfe Tone. You're free to beat the Lambeg drum So long as one thing's true - It suits the ruling class to wear The Orange and the Blue But let that Orange Sash take on The faintest shade of Red Your name'll soon be on the list Of Ireland's glorious dead On both sides, yet, there's those who fear To speak of '98 When Irishmen together fought Regardless of their faith Their deeds are praised in countless songs But their purpose still denied Ireland her own, and all therein Between the earth and sky