The street lamp light is fading now,
The sun begins to rise,
Armoured police, like beetles creep,
As factory whistles blow,
Workers scurry to the mills, another day begun,
In Belfast, August, '69, 'midst the terror
Of the gun.
Rows of red-bricked houses, soulless,
Charred and burnt,
Stand face to face and back to back,
There's no lace curtains now
An echo from the distant past,
Impervious to pain,
Cement and bricks and human skull
Will raise them up again.
From my flat above the streets I stare,
I curse my new found home,
No human skill will raise my love,
To bloom into a man,
Shot by cowards in his bed
At the tender age of nine,
CRY MURDER! my child Patrick's dead
In Belfast '69.
The sun begins to rise,
Armoured police, like beetles creep,
As factory whistles blow,
Workers scurry to the mills, another day begun,
In Belfast, August, '69, 'midst the terror
Of the gun.
Rows of red-bricked houses, soulless,
Charred and burnt,
Stand face to face and back to back,
There's no lace curtains now
An echo from the distant past,
Impervious to pain,
Cement and bricks and human skull
Will raise them up again.
From my flat above the streets I stare,
I curse my new found home,
No human skill will raise my love,
To bloom into a man,
Shot by cowards in his bed
At the tender age of nine,
CRY MURDER! my child Patrick's dead
In Belfast '69.
×
![]()
Note for non-Italian users: Sorry, though the interface of this website is translated into English, most commentaries and biographies are in Italian and/or in other languages like French, German, Spanish, Russian etc.
