Nothing much I'd die for, for nothing much I'd cry, but for dear old Ireland I would prepare

to lie dying upon the fields of green. Never have I seen it, though tales I have been told, of heros, legends and battles, the glory days of old. Eire's isle I have sprung and die for it I would; before all gold and riches here, for give me this land never could. For has it given me my language, my lineage, my looks? Blood is thicker than water or so it has been said...and here alas the water runs when in Ireland clan's blood is shed. The Protestant against the Catholic, the Nationlist against them all...the Unionist's, and their parties and those English dogs. And fight for the cause I would have I been back in 1916 when the Easter rising was fighting and dying like slaughtered sheep. Oppression, slavery and killings, those casualties of war, they only fought for vengence for the millions who starved. The truth of England's cruelty has shown throughout the years and even as a half-bred Englishman I sweat of Ireland's tears. Erin go braugh I shout to all who may be passing by, Erin go braugh, I'll ne'er shy away for that ancient Isle is mine. Erin go braugh I love you and home I wish I'd be...but there I am whenever I dream, whenever I'm in peaceful sleep.

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