Your honeyed words slide over all of our dead
Your pregnant jails are leaking all of our young..
the song of a thousand birds is singing
They cut off our branches but we'll grow them back,
our roots are too deep in this soil burnt and black...
Let loose your dogs to feed on all of our bones,
Kick in our doors and quietly burn down our homes..
the song of a thousand birds is singing
They cut off our branches but we'll grow them back,
our roots are too deep in this soil burnt and black...
For the rent on our own land
you control through fear,
Oppression and chokeholds are all that you sell
all our days will come...
all our days will come... More from Declan De Barra