Bombed In Omagh

A Fetid, putrid, rotten, evil smell,
that stinks the nation in its carnage,
have innocent, old and young,
shopping on Saturday afternoon,
'What will you buy with your pocket money?
'I must get that Boyzone or Spice girls CD,
and new uniform for school',
'I am getting my eyes tested, won't I look grand,
in the new frames, he'll have them ready
on Saturday'.

Someone drives a car
after his Republican lunch,
that same Saturday, into Omagh.
'What are you getting, Daddy, in the town,
will you bring something back, Daddy?'
Someone is sitting the week before
planning the strategy, the final push,
once more for Érin go Bráth?
Wrap the green flag round me boys,
a nation once again,
God save Ireland, indeed.

Maybe your words did send them out,
Senator Yeats,
and those who made you Senator, too,
marching to the General Post Office,
wasn't a great start, an Omagh too,
Bloody Sunday, Bloody Sunday,
Sunday Bloody Sunday,
and Bloody Saturday as well.

Is General Custer on his last stand,
or is a patriot, a fascist,
who tells the people,
the majority, 'you have no right,
to be wrong'.

British soldiers ambushed,
stripped naked for the world, and only a priest to offer truth,
a nation once again.

God save Ireland,
wear the green on Paddy's day,
sing the songs of blood-curdling cry,
and men behind the wire.
Ban the British from hurling
until the fourth green field
is a nation once again?
Ireland UN free, and all that.

'What will I get when I go into town,
this Saturday afternoon,
what are you packing so carefully
in your car, Daddy?'

And we all sign the book
and send the flowers,
and stand for the minute,
and politicians look grim,
and shake hands.

'What are you packing in your words,
and deeds,
your stirring vote-catching speech?

Do you stand for the blast?
Do my words send them out?'

GOD SAVE IRELAND