a true story a tribute to the life of one young man speak his name with achin heart steady hand im puttin pen to paper father dear i trust these words ll find you and pray that you can read em through your tears they say a man thats born to sing can scare away his woes and banish all his anger his pain but the screamin jn my head killed the singin in my soul and i fear i ll never recall the tune again ive trouble with the sleepin my shadows weight impossible to bear i hear my sister weepin and callin to me from that other where the names o them i loved are carved into my skin the greatest crew a fightr ever had they call us gypsy bastards and say it like its sin that all our wars are merry and all our songs are sad tell em i went out dancin tell em i went to war tell em whatever you want to all the same its said a man dies first when hes parted wi his soul and second when folk forget to speak his name derry born barely raised id hardly bear to see the place again til in merrie bloody england i found myself a brother to the end its proper that youre grievin yer poorer for me leavin the best fairest any given day let matty marco luke john bless the slab im lyin on kiss me arse send me on me way a half a dozen monkeys the devil sent to snap me o er his knee i slapped their filthy tongues back in their skulls and did it laughin wickedly smash the right fuck the left i ll curse em with my dyin breath as bent as each t other i would say the only drum i march to is me irish bloody heart kickin out against its brittle cage