Belfast To Boston

There are rifles buried in the countryside for the rising of the moon
May they lie there long forgotten till they rust away into the ground
Who will bend this ancient hatred, will the killing to an end
Who will swallow long injustice, take the devil for a country man
Who will say «this far no further, oh lord, if I die today»
Send no weapons no more money. send no vengeance across the seas
Missing brothers, martyred fellows, silent children in the ground
Could we but hear them could they not tell us
«time to lay god’s rifle down»
Who will say this far no further, oh lord, if I die today.