We stood on the shoulders of giants
Like atlas with the burden of faith
We clasped our hands—our hands in praise
Of a conqueror's right to tyranny
And this is a language that has not passed
Our lips in one thousand—one thousand years
So heretics I call to you
And partisans stand as one
And rebels raise your voices
If not then all is lost
And this is the death of the Republic and make no mistake
The senate is lost and Zeus is laughing
So Mars God of war can you hurl a Lightning Bolt
To smash the temple of the blind
The Tiber is over—is over-flowing with the blood of innocent men
So heretics I call to you
And partisans stand as one
And rebels raise your voices
If not then all is lost
And so we stood, among thieves, liars and murderers
Whose names shall live in eternal rest and infamy
Disgraced kings enshrined with their pious men
Who ruled us all with the bloodied spear of destiny
You knew my name before I was born
You knew my death from the moment it passed my lips
And this is the death of the Republic
It's dead and gone with Pearse in the grave
And we are haunted to the end by the ghosts of Connolly's army
And skeletal fingers are on the trigger of Collins' demise
And Parnell's—his dreams are turned to nothing but dust
"And I say to my people's masters:
Beware, beware of the thing that is coming
Beware of the risen people
Who shall take what ye would not give
Did ye think to conquer the people
Or that law is stronger than life
And than men's desire to be free?"