Kilkelly, Ireland, eighteen and sixty My dear and loving son John Your good friend the schoolmaster Pat McNamara’s So good as to write these words down Your brothers have all gone to find work in England The house is so empty and sad The crop of potatoes is sorely infected A third to a half of them bad And your sister Brigid and Patrick O`Donnell Are going to be married in June Your mother says not to work on the railroad And be sure to come on home soon Kilkelly, Ireland, eighteen and seventy My dear and loving son John Hello to your missus and to your four children May they grow healthy and strong Michael has got in a wee bit of trouble I suppose that he never will learn Because of the dampness there's no turf to speak of And now we have nothing to burn Brigid is happy you named a child for her Although she's got six of her own You say you found work but you don't say what kind Or when you'll be coming home Kilkelly, Ireland, eighteen and eighty Dear Michael and John my sons I'm sorry to give you the sad news That your dear mother has gone We buried her down at the church in Kilkelly Your brothers and Brigid were there You don't have to worry, she died very quickly Remember her in your prayers And it's so good to hear that Michael's returning With money he’s sure to buy land For the crop has been poor and the people are selling At any price they can Kilkelly, Ireland, eighteen and ninety My dear and loving son John I suppose that I must be close on eighty It’s thirty years since you've gone Because of all of the money you sent me I'm still living out on my own Michael has build himself a fine house And Brigid’s daughters are grown And thank you for sending your family picture They're lovely young woman and men You say that you might even come for a visit W hat joy to see you again Kilkelly, Ireland, eighteen and ninety two My dear brother John I’m sorry I didn't write sooner to tell you That father passed on He was living with Brigid she says he was cheerful And healthy right down to the end Ah, you should have seen him playing with the grandchildren Of Pat McNamara your friend And we buried him alongside of mother Down at Kilkelly churchyard He was a strong and feisty old man Considering his life was so hard And it’s funny the way he kept talking about you He called for you at the end Oh why don't you think about coming to visit We’d all love to see you again Words and Music by Peter Jones (copyright control)

We knew we faced the power that comes from money When we marched against the empire's mighty schemes They were armed with special powers and legislation While we were armed with youth and foolish dreams But it seemed so right in Derry all that summer When we took them on and built our barricades We were an army dressed in faded jeans and sandals Too young and full of pride to be afraid And we believed in things like justice, truth, and freedom And we believed we had a right to liberty And we believed that we could build a new tomorrow That's how it seemed to Peter Pan and me. But we soon learned the truth of street rebellion As our city crumbled round us stone by stone Betrayed by those who promised they would help us Against tanks, and troops, and guns we stood alone. For revolution is no game for foolish dreamers For dreamers never know the price that must be paid Before long we learned all power comes from a rifle And we learned to bleed and die and be afraid. And soon no one spoke of justice, truth, or freedom And soon no one gave one damn for liberty And all we hoped was that we might go on surviving We grew up fast, young Peter Pan and me. Then the empire dealt us death and fear and prison There's no mercy from that military machine And our street kids swapped their faded jeans and sandals For hoods and guns with loaded magazines. And now the years have wrought their cruel retribution And our brothers and our sisters bear the pain As both sides strive for violent solutions And the politicians play their deadly games. And among the dead lie justice, truth, and freedom And among the dead lie hope and liberty But if you care enough about brave new tomorrows Pull up a chair, join Peter Pan and me. Words and Music by Mickey McConnell (Elm Grove Music)