They build bombs and aim their pistols in the shadow of the cross   And they swear an oath of vengeance to the martyrs they have lost   But they pray for peace on Sundays with a rosary in each hand   It's long memories and short tempers that have cursed poor Ireland   It's long memories and short tempers that have cursed poor Ireland      We have cousins on the old sod and we don't forget our kin   From Boston we send more guns and we tell them they can win   Then we turn back to our green beer and to MacNamaras Band   It's true friends with false perceptions that have cursed poor Ireland   True friends with false perceptions that have cursed poor Ireland      They weave tales of wit and magic and their songs are strong and free   But they fail to hear each other, prisoners of history      Orange flags wave for the British to greet the armys clicking heel   And Irish curse their Irish brother for the altar where they kneel   And now provoked to greater anger by the distant royal hand   It's old hatreds and young victims that have cursed poor Ireland   Old hatreds and young victims that have cursed poor Ireland      So we're left with retribution its the cycle of the damned   And the hope becomes more distant as the flames of hate are fanned   Who will listen to the children for they're taught to take their stand   They say love and true forgiveness can still heal fair Ireland   They say love and true forgiveness can still heal fair Ireland   Only love and real forgiveness can still heal fair Ireland