| In the station in the city a British soldier stood
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| Talking to the people there if the people would
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| Some just stared in hatred and others turned in pain
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| And the lonely British soldier wished he was back home again
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| «Come join the British army» Said the posters in his town
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| «See the world and have your fun, come serve before the crown»
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| The jobs were hard to come by and he could not face the dole
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| So he took his country’s shilling and enlisted on the roll
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| But there was no fear of fighting, the Empire long was lost
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| Just ten years in the army, getting paid for being bossed
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| Then leave a man experienced, a man who’s made the grade
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| A medal and a pension, some mem’ries and a trade
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| Then came the call to Ireland as the call had come before
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| Another bloody chapter in an endless civil war
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| The priests they stood on both sides, the priests they stood behind
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| Another fight in Jesus' name, the blind against the blind
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| The soldier stood between them, between the whistling stones
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| And then the broken bottles that led to broken bones
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| The petrol bombs that burned his hands, the nails that pierced his skin
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| And wished that he had stayed at home surrounded by his kin
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| The station filled with people, the soldier soon was bored
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| But better in the station than where the people warred
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| The room filled up with mothers, with daughters and with sons
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| Who stared with itchy fingers at the soldier and his guns
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| A yell of fear, a screech of brakes, a shattering of glass
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| The window of the station broke to let the package pass
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| A scream came from the mothers as they ran towards the door
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| Dragging children crying from the bomb upon the floor
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| The soldier stood and could not move, his gun he could not use
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| He knew the bomb had seconds and not minutes on the fuse
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| He could not run to pick it up and throw it in the street
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| There were far too many people there, too many running feet
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| «Take cover!» |
| Yelled the soldier, «Take cover for your lives!»
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| And the Irishmen threw down their young and stood before their wives
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| They turned towards the soldier, their eyes alive with fear
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| «For God’s sake, save our children, or they’ll end their short lives here»
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| The soldier moved towards the bomb, his stomach like a stone
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| Why was this his battle, God, why was he alone?
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| He laid down on the package and he murmured one farewell
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| To those at home in England, to those he loved so well
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| He saw the sights of summer, felt the wind upon his brow
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| The young girls in the city parks, how precious were they now?
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| The soaring of the swallow, the beauty of the swan
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| The music of the turning earth so soon would it be gone
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| A muffled soft explosion and the room began to quake
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| The soldier blown across the floor, his blood a crimson lake
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| They never heard him cry or shout, they never heard him moan
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| And they turned their children’s faces from the blood and from the bone
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| The crowd outside soon gathered and the ambulances came
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| To carry off the body of a pawn lost to the game
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| And the crowd they clapped and jeered, and they sang their rebel songs
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| «One soldier less to interfere where he did not belong»
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| And will the children growing up learn at their mother’s knee
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| The story of the soldier who bought their liberty?
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| Who used his youthful body as the means towards the end
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| Who gave his life to those who called him murderer not friend |