a few songs in my mind alot

time for a sad song

fidlers green

Halfway down the trail to Hell,In a shady meadow greenAre the Souls of all dead troopers camped,Near a good old-time canteen.And this eternal resting placeIs known as Fiddlers' Green.
Marching past, straight through to HellThe Infantry are seen.Accompanied by the Engineers,Artillery and Marines,For none but the shades of CavalrymenDismount at Fiddlers' Green.
Though some go curving down the trailTo seek a warmer scene.No trooper ever gets to HellEre he's emptied his canteen.And so rides back to drink againWith friends at Fiddlers' Green.
And so when man and horse go downBeneath a saber keen,Or in a roaring charge of fierce meleeYou stop a bullet clean,And the hostiles come to get your scalp,Just empty your canteen,And put your pistol to your headAnd go to Fiddlers' Green.

and time for a better song
"foggy dew"

'Twas down the glen one Easter mornTo a city fair rode I.When armed line of marching menIn squadrons passed me by.No pipes did hum, no battle drumDid sound its loud tattooBut the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey's swellRang out in the foggy dew.
Right proudly high over Dublin townThey hung out a flag of war.'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish skyThan at Suvla or Sud el Bar.And from the plains of Royal MeathStrong men came hurrying through;While Brittania's huns with their great big gunsSailed in through the foggy dew.

O' the night fell black and the rifles' crack
Made "Perfidious Abion" reel'Mid the leaden rail, seven tongues of flame Did shine o'er the lines of steel.
By each shining blade a prayer was siad
That to Ireland her sons be true,And when morning broke still the war flag shook
Out its fold in the foggy dew
'Twas England bade our wild geese go
That small nations might be free.But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves
On the fringe of the gray North Sea.But had they died by Pearse's side
Or fought with Cathal Brugha,
Their names we'd keep where the Fenians sleep'Neath the shroud of the foggy dew.
The bravest fell, and the solemn bell Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Watertide
In the springing of the year.And the world did gaze with deep amaze
At those fearless men, but few
Who bore the fight that freedom's light
Might shine through the foggy dew.
Ah, back through the glen I rode again
and my heart with grief was
I parted then with valiant men
whom I never shall see more.But to and fro in my dreams I go andI'd kneel and pray for you,For slavery fled, O glorious dead, when
you fell in the foggy dew.