The Waterboys - September 1913

^DWhat need you being come to ^Bmsense ^DBut fumble in a greasy ^Bmtill ^DAnd add the halfpence to the ^Bmpence ^DAnd prayer to shivering prayer un^Bmtil

^G#dimYou've dried the marrow from the ^Gbone For men were born to pray and ^Dsave, pray and ^Bmsave ^G#dimRomantic Ireland's dead and ^Ggone It's with O'Leary in the ^Dgrave, in the ^Bmgrave

^DYet they were of a different ^Bmkind ^DThose names that stilled your childish ^Bmplay ^DThey have gone about the world like ^Bmwind ^DBut little time had they to ^Bmpray

^G#dimFor whom the hangman's rope was ^Gspun And what, God help us, could they ^Dsave, could they s^Bmave? ^G#dimRomantic Ireland's dead and ^Ggone It's with O'Leary in the ^Dgrave, in the ^Bmgrave

^DWas it for this the wild geese ^Bmspread? ^DThe grey wing upon every ^Bmtide ^DFor this that all that blood was ^Bmshed ^DFor this Fitzgerald ^Bmdied

^G#dimAnd Robert Emmet and Wolfe ^GTone All that delirium of the ^Dbrave of the ^Bmbrave ^G#dimRomantic Ireland's dead and ^Ggone It's with O'Leary in the ^Dgrave, in the ^Bmgrave

^DYet could we turn the years ^Bmagain ^DAnd we call those exiles as they ^Bmwere ^DIn all their loneliness and ^Bmpain ^DYou'd cry: "Some woman's yellow ^Bmhair..."

^G#dim"Has maddened every mother's ^Gson" They weighed so lightly what they ^Dgave, what they ^Bmgave ^G#dimBut let them be, they're dead and ^Ggone They're with O'Leary in the ^Dgrave, in the ^Bmgrave

^G#dimBut let them be, they're dead and ^Ggone They're with O'Leary in the ^Dgrave, in the ^Bmgrave ^G#dimRomantic Ireland's dead and ^Ggone It's with O'Leary in the ^Dgrave, in the ^Bmgrave In the ^Dgrave, in the ^Bmgrave In the ^Dgrave, in the ^Bmgrave In the ^Dgrave, in the ^Bmgrave