Deep within darkest shadow currents, coarse
The bitter blood. Countless generations
Stumble under old justifications;
And the battle rages with hideous force.
Desperate vengeance imprisons remorse;
We are trapped. Whose rationalizations
Created these deformed expectations;
This intolerance? What ancient source
Feeds our misery? Two hundred years
Have passed since my people fled those
Emerald hills and still this soul sheds tears;
Shadows hide the brokenness I suppose.
And yet, I hear the voice of our King calling
Us home. Ireland, your healing is at hand.