Twas on Good Friday morning, all in the month of May,
A German ship was signalling, beyond out in the bay,
"We've twenty thousand rifles, all ready for to land",
But no answering signals did come from the lonely Banna Strand.

"No signal answers from the shore," Sir Roger sadly said,
"No comrades here to welcome me, alas, they must be dead,
But I must do my duty and at once I mean to land",
So in a small boat pulled ashore on the lonely Banna Strand.

Now the RIC were hunting for Sir Roger high and low,
They found him at McKenna's Fort, said they, "You are our foe",
Said he, "I'm Roger Casement, I came to my native land,
And I mean to free my countrymen on the lonely Banna Strand."

Now they took Sir Roger prisoner and sailed for London town,
And in the Tower they laid him a traitor to the Crown,
Said he, "I am no traitor", but his trial he had to stand,
For bringing German rifles to the lonely Banna Strand.

Twas in an English prison that they led him to his death,
"I'm dying for my country", he said with his last breath,
They buried him in British soil, far from his native land,
And the wild waves sing his requiem on the lonely Banna Strand.

Now they took Sir Roger home again, in the year of '65,
And with his comrades of '16, in peace and tranquil lies,
His last fond wish, it is fulfilled, for to lie in his native land,
And the waves will roll in peace again on the lonely Banna Strand,
And the waves will roll in peace again on the lonely Banna Strand.