People of plight, you have fought for the right,
To rid of your countries injustice,
In a cold prison cell, you serve out your hell,
Not knowing the sweet taste of freedom,
But tomorrow will come with a break of the dawn,
And winter will change into spring,
Then we can look for the new, brighter things,
When our hopes and our dreams will come true.

Twas not long ago, in our march you did show,
Those old and bad ways must be changing,
But you met with ill fate, those people of hate,
With their sticks and their stones, they were raging,
But the cold winds of change will come with the morn,
And the wind will change to a storm,
And if the trees don't bend in the breeze,
Then they surely must bend in the storm.

Word for a word and sword for a sword,
Is the cruel way that life has been showing,
In a city of hate, it is never too late,
To see friendship and love start a-growing,
But the damage is done to Ireland's sons,
And a flower won't grow on a stone,
And blossoms won't grow on the streets of our land,
To the right, seas of love, they are sold.

Children of fear, the time, it is near,
That our land had a change of good fortune,
For the struggle and fight has gone through the night,
And has been there for manys the long year,
It is not for the want or the courage you've shown,
And our ship is not lost to the seas,
And to the world, let our struggles be known,
Till all prisoners of hate are set free.