Rain on Kilmainham – A Ballad for the Fallen of 1916

Details
Title | Rain on Kilmainham – A Ballad for the Fallen of 1916 |
Author | Just Irish |
Duration | 3:52 |
File Format | MP3 / MP4 |
Original URL | https://youtube.com/watch?v=BS5YbEuCSds |
Description
Rain on Kilmainham – A Ballad for the Fallen of 1916
This original Irish ballad honours the men who faced the firing squad in Kilmainham Gaol following the 1916 Rising. From Pearse to Connolly, from silent courtyards to whispered legends, “Rain on Kilmainham” carries the sorrow, pride, and unbroken spirit of a people who remember.
Sung in six verses — no wasted words, just raw lyrics , no fantasy — this is a tribute to truth, sacrifice, and the rain that still falls on stones in Kilmainham jail.
“They aimed to end a nation's claim,
But crowned it bright in Ireland’s name.”
Whether you're a singer, student, or son of Ireland — this is for you.
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Verse 1
The yard lay still in morning rain,
Where freedom paid its price in pain
No crowds to cheer, no bands to play,
Just dawn and death, were steps away.
Verse 2 (chorus)
Each name was called in morning grey,
Pearse stood tall, with words to say.
Connolly bound, yet would not yield,
His stretcher faced the soldiers’ steel.
Verse 3
The walls were thick, but truth still climbed,
They could not cage the rebel mind.
They aimed to end a nation's claim,
But crowned it bright in Ireland’s name.
Chorus
Each name was called in morning grey,
Pearse stood tall, with words to say.
Connolly bound, yet would not yield,
His stretcher faced the soldiers’ steel.
Verse 4
The sentry flinched, his stance went stiff,
The priest read slow from sacred scripts
No traitor’s shame, no bandit’s sneer
They faced the guns without one fear.
Chorus
Each name was called in morning grey,
Pearse stood tall, with words to say.
Connolly bound, yet would not yield,
His stretcher faced the soldiers’ steel.
Verse 5
Their mothers wept behind closed doors,
The children whispered rebel lore.
From prison yard to market stall,
Their dying breath became our call.
Verse 6
Now rain still taps on rusted gates,
Like mourners come a century late.
Their ghosts don’t cry - they simply wait,
For us to rise, or share their fate.