The fires of Hell burn bright
in the eve of the 13th night
Waiting for angels to fall
No hope of salvation at all
angel dyer! curse the name!
to the new year celebration, he came
The fires are ablaze
In this fiendish maze
the lambs are baptized
with tearing pain flowing through the arm
Sweet, red and warm
or the holy waters of garden
sixteen hundred shots to
unarmed gathering, its true
Brigadier Dyer, came with English troops
90 men stoops
the stench will not go away
like a curse it will stay
Under the sweetest flower,
in the garden of bones,
in deep, here they sleep.
for them, do not weep,
no tears shower,
no bouquet of flowers
break your narrow walls of dispute,
be an Indian, give them a salute.
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