For a culture of resistance against the labour tyranny, we must use art!
Who opened the gate saying "Nothing to guard?"
The masters of nothing, with a handouts unbarred;
They invited the gale to the hearth and the hall,
And decided that winter should visit us all.
"On you go!" they whispered, as the gates swung wide,
With the greed in their souls and nowhere to hide.
II.
The statesmen may smile as they play with our fate,
Ignoring the hunger in this nation State.
They distract with a budget, a hospital’s cost,
It's profit to them, we take the loss.
To speak of our home or to stand for our kin,
Is labeled a sin—yet they let strangers in.
III.
But look to the history that flows through our veins,
A lineage of spirit that breaks every chain.
This was the land where the Cross first took root,
Where the saints walked with God, and we bore the fruits.
From St. Patrick’s great courage to St. Bridget’s sweet grace,
The faith is our armor, our strength and our base.
IV.
It was not just a creed; it's the marrow of bone,
A shield for the family, the truth we have known.
It carved out our language, our culture, our soul,
And kept us as one when battles took toll.
The saints were our scholars, their prayers were our might,
Turning darkness to dawn through the long, winter night.
V.
We have drifted from the fold; we wandered too far,
Chasing the shadows and the fool’s evening star.
But history is calling! The Church bells ring clear,
To banish the doubt and the silence and fear.
For when all the structures of men fall to dust,
Keep strength of faith, and in God place our trust.
VI.
Let us return to the Cross, let us walk in the light,
With the armor of Christ to make everything right.
Come back to your roots and stand for the truth,
For the wisdom of old is the fire of our youth.
We are not be lost; we know where we’ve been—
When we reclaim our souls... by letting God in.