It was Sunday Bloody Sunday when they shot the people there, the cries of fourteen martyrs filled the Free Derry air...
Trentotto anni non cancellano il ricordo.
I tuoi esuli parlano lingue straniere, si addormentano soli sognando i tuoi cieli.
Three leaf shamrock, I adore thee.
My heart is in Ireland, it's there I long to be
Her hills and her valleys are calling to me.
Though born here in this land, my heart is in Ireland
The land of the old folks is calling to me.
Un bicchiere levato al cielo d'Irlanda!
Erin go brách!