I've heard them the orange drums   Rapping out the battle cry   Metaphoric guns cracking in July   Then the crucifixes and the beads   And the twisted hands weaving Brigid's reeds   Recalling the black and tans   Round the cemetary by the church   Flowers of hatred bloom   While the living march   To a dead piper's tune      I've heard them the orange drums   Rapping out the battle cry   Metaphoric guns cracking in July   Then the crucifixes and the beads   And the twisted hands weaving Brigid's reeds   Recalling the black and tans   Their dreams are old and senile   As the wreath marks the end of another life   The men in black shoot their salute   As the crowd turn from the wife   And the Prime Minister and the Brits go back   To where the others came from   Another death is offered to God   Belfast wakes to another dawn