Inside the post office a few men of high repute had entombed themselves,
the cause a gallant one.
Their laws,
a valiant heroic fight to the death.
If they should fall their glory in martyrdom would arise.
The brave few Irish patriots bowed down not to fear
but stood up to their oppressors as they were called.
God under a pale Irish sky,
where gold lined the silver streets and shadows surrounded the post office,
as strangers they dared to despise.

Jealous of the gold and silver.
Greedy of that noble cause.
The brave few where taken and executed.
Shot down in cold blood under a gray Irish sky by dark hands of the stranger.
They claimed martyrdom.

From out of those graves Irish blood still flows.
While Ireland holds these graves Ireland unfree shall never be at peace.
Ireland has seen the coming of a new day,
the Easter rising of 1916 has entombed the spirit,
but has not seen this nation one.


By Paul McCann