Mic Ryan's Lament
Well my name is Mick Ryan, I'm lyin still
In a lonely spot near where I was killed
By a red man defending his native land
In the place that they call Little Big Horn
And I swear I did not see the irony
When I rode with the Seventh Cavalry
I thought that we fought for the land of the free
When we rode from Fort Lincoln that morning
And the band they played the Garryowen
Brass was shining, flags a flowin
I swear if I had only known
I'd have wished that I'd died back at Vicksburg
For my brother and me, we had barely escaped
From the hell that was Ireland in forty eight
Two angry young lads who had learned how to hate
But we loved the idea of Amerikay
And we cursed our cousins who fought and bled
In their bloody coats of bloody red
The sun never sets on the bloody dead
Of those who have chosen an empire
But we'd find a better life somehow
In the land where no man has to bow
It seemed right then and it seems right now
That Paddy he died for the union
Ah, but Michael he somehow got turned around
He had stolen the dream that he thought he'd found
Now I never will see that holy ground
For I turned into something I hated
And I'm haunted by the Garryowen
Drums a beating, bugles blowin'
I swear if I had only known
I'd lie with my brother in Vicksburg
And the band they played that Garryowen
Brass was shin, flags a flowin'
I swear if I had only known, I'd lie with
my brother at Vicksburg
Lamento de Mick Ryan
Bem, meu nome é Mick Ryan, estou deitado aqui
Num lugar solitário perto de onde fui morto
Por um homem vermelho defendendo sua terra natal
No lugar que chamam de Little Big Horn
E eu juro que não vi a ironia
Quando lutei com a Sétima Cavalaria
Achei que estávamos lutando pela terra dos livres
Quando saímos de Fort Lincoln naquela manhã
E a banda tocava o Garryowen
Os metais brilhando, bandeiras tremulando
Eu juro que se eu soubesse
Eu teria desejado ter morrido em Vicksburg
Pois meu irmão e eu mal escapamos
Do inferno que era a Irlanda em quarenta e oito
Dois jovens revoltados que aprenderam a odiar
Mas amávamos a ideia da Amerikay
E xingamos nossos primos que lutaram e sangraram
Em seus casacos ensanguentados de vermelho
O sol nunca se põe sobre os mortos sangrentos
Daqueles que escolheram um império
Mas encontraríamos uma vida melhor de algum jeito
Na terra onde nenhum homem precisa se curvar
Parecia certo então e parece certo agora
Que Paddy morreu pela união
Ah, mas Michael de alguma forma se perdeu
Ele havia roubado o sonho que achou que tinha encontrado
Agora nunca verei aquele solo sagrado
Pois me tornei algo que eu odiava
E sou assombrado pelo Garryowen
Tambores batendo, trombetas soando
Eu juro que se eu soubesse
Eu estaria deitado com meu irmão em Vicksburg
E a banda tocava aquele Garryowen
Os metais brilhando, bandeiras tremulando
Eu juro que se eu soubesse, eu estaria deitado com
meu irmão em Vicksburg
Composição: Robert Emmet Dunlap