My youngest son came home today|
His friends marched with him all the way
The pipes and drums beat out the time
As in his box of polished pine
Like dead meat on a butcher's tray
My youngest son came home today.
2. My youngest son was a fine young man
3. Above the narrow Belfast streets|
An Irish sky looks down and weeps
On childrens' blood in gutters spilled
In dreams of freedom unfilled
As part of freedoms price to pay
My youngest son home today.
4. My youngest son came home today
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