What compels young men to die
A death so long and cruel
To suffer years of pain and shame
in solitary in jails?

I speak of men like Hughes and Sands
O’Hara and McCreesh
Laying in the blocks of hell
Where brutality is released.

Untold pain, heartaches
Restless lonely nights
Where men find strength within their hearts
To stand for what is right.

Oppression equals slavery
And resistance stems from both
And those who fight to end it
Are soldiers of the truth.

No matter if they recognise
The truth in here or not
The products of these years of pain
Upon them they have brought.

This Hunger Strike where young men die
Not for glory, not for gain
But for recognition of the wars
Raging through our land.

Lying in their beds this night
Just bones and clinging flesh
Pale and ashen, cold and worn
In the H-Blocks of Long Kesh.

They are dying for the people’s cause
Not their own or foreign greed
They’ll die if you don’t help them
In this, their hour of need.