no count of years may
still the hand of fate
but yet the kindly
sunrise eases pain
as those who fought
arise to fight again
with little rancour
and without debate
for once removed the
horrors cease to grate
on any soul and there’s
no longer strain
when each of us can
see the future plain
and know that we’re
the owners of the state
this is the promise
made by those who sleep
beneath our soil whose
lives gave ours full worth
that a bright morning
would our people see
not as a flock of
tired and hungry sheep
but as a folk in
fullest time of mirth
enjoying every taste
of liberty
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