It’s 51 years since they lay slaughtered on our streets;

Yet it still seems like yesterday, those thousands of marching feet.

The truth finally came out, all so late and still reluctantly from them;

It took years of protest and inquiry to establish the innocence of our men.

 

It happened before in Croke Park, Amritsar and everywhere their uninvited empire appeared;

Citizens who objected were just tortured and murdered; it’s the freedom of small nations they fear.

Such cruelty, such arrogance and such butchery, the currency of invasion of homelands;

But time has caught up as their empire fades and erodes, just like the shifting sands.

 

New stories come and new stories go; yet the Bloody Sunday story remains;

And forever the people of Derry will remember and honour their names.

But they still deny justice to the innocent, and no murderer has done time;

In the eyes of the empire shooting us Irish remains no crime.

 

So the march goes on and our dead sons lay still;

We’re still demanding rights and justice, with renewed vigour and will.

Governments will come and governments will go and be gladly forgotten:

But Bloody Sunday is a beacon that exposes a core that is rotten.

 

And for another 50 years and 50 years more, the murdered, wounded and injured will live on;

As our offspring and theirs, remind them that a risen people will not be walked upon.

And when the sun finally sets on this empire of blood, as it surely will on some future day;

Derry will still honour those martyrs who marched for our rights and gave us a say.