Rockets hit the station, fire set ablaze,
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death and mutilation in the haze.
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Where mercy takes a holiday, hatred wears a crown.
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The undertaker's king in Ulster Town.
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Green the fields of envy, red the bloody lane.
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Still they bury and they bury in my name.
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Bells ring out in Belfast.
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How many more will die?
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The wounded stain the cradle to the grave.
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How spite, fear, and bigotry can change the face of shame.
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Do the losses really balance out the gain
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Grey and broken cobblestone, yellow is the moon.
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Bitterest of tears are shed of those who die too soon.
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And answers aren't so simple when the truth is plain to see,
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you'd do to them what you would do to me.
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Bloody Lane
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Crashdog |