paroles de chanson Duffy's Cut - Christy Moore
In
the
summer
of
1832
The
sailing
ship
John
Stamp
Tied
up
into
the
port
of
Pennsylvania
Up
the
ladder
from
the
cargo
deck
Poor
men
and
women
crept
Into
the
open
skies
above
Dia
is
Muire
Dhuit
agus
Failte
Romhat
Duffy's
my
name,
I
cut
through
stone
Work
for
me,
I'm
one
of
your
own
In
dollars
I
will
pay
you
57
men
signed
up,
Duffy
promised
to
fill
their
cup
If
they
cut
the
Malvern
Valley
up
Mile
59
had
to
be
on
time
for
the
railway
line
From
Ballyshannon
and
The
Glenties
They
sailed
right
into
hell
They
suffered
like
the
weeping
Christ
Down
Duffy's
Cut
they
sweat
their
blood
Into
his
wishing
well
Were
they
taken
by
the
sickness?
Were
they
hunted
down
like
scum?
Was
there
poison
in
the
water?
Was
it
cholera
or
murder?
The
smoke
that
hid
the
bullets
From
the
barrel
of
the
boss's
gun
The
Blacksmith
and
the
Holy
Sisters
Good
people
through
and
through
Whispered
prayers
into
the
victims
ears
It's
all
that
they
could
do
How
come
the
bosses
had
silence
on
their
lips
As
57
Irish
Navvies
were
buried
in
a
pit
No
stone
to
mark
their
resting
place
No
one
to
mourn
their
passing
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