We stood on the shoulders of giants
Like atlas with the burden of faith
We clasped our hands, our hands in praise
Of a conqueror's right to tyranny
And this is a language that has not passed
Our lips in one thousand, one thousand years

So heretics I call to you
And Partisans stand as one
And Rebels raise your voices
If not then all is lost

And this is the death of the Republic and make no mistake
The senate is lost and Zeus is laughing
So Mars, God of war can you hurl a lightning bolt
To smash the temple of the blind
The Tiber is over, is over flowing with the blood of innocent men

So heretics I call to you
And Partisans stand as one
And Rebels raise your voices
If not then all is lost

And so we stood, among thieves, liars and murderers
Whose names shall live in eternal rest and infamy
Disgraced kings enshrined with their pious men
Who ruled us all with the bloodied spear of destiny

You knew my name before I was born
You knew my death from the moment it passed my lips

And this is the death of the Republic
It's dead and gone with Pearse in the grave
And we're haunted to the end by the ghosts of Connolly's army
And Skeletal fingers are on the trigger of Collins' demise
And Parnell's, his dreams are turned to nothing but dust

"And I say to my people’s masters: Beware
Beware of the thing that is coming, beware of the risen people
Who shall take what ye would not give
Did ye think to conquer the people, or that law is stronger than life
And than men’s desire to be free?"