Rirà
Brave Irish Boy
Rirà
2024
J’ai bientôt 20 ans
Je suis fort je souris
Prés des forges de Clifden
c’est là que je vis
Quand j’aurais fais mon temps
Que mes cheveux seront gris
Dans cette terre qui est mienne
Vous ferez mon lit
Ce matin comme souvent
c’est devant la laiterie
Que j’attends celle que j’aime
Ma belle Jenny
Nous aurons des enfants
Une maison pleine de bruits
Elle en sera la reine
Et j’en serai ravi
Hourra for the Irish boy
Vous verrez que grande sera ma vie
Levez bien haut vos verres
A la santé de mon père
Écoutez chanter ma mère les romances du pays
Je vois bien qu’au lointain
Un grand feu est nourri
Par des hommes que la colère
rend sans merci
La rage est en chemin
Elle viendra jusqu’ici
nous n’aurons qu’à nous taire
Obéir et tant pis !
On se marrie demain
Car je pars vendredi
Un bateau nous emmène
Au cœur de la nuit
Que j’ai bien du chagrin
A voir pleurer Jenny
Je m’en vais au combat
Sans en avoir envie
Hourra for the Irish boy
Faut y aller c’est comme ça , qu’on nous dit
Je vois lever des verres
Sourire des militaires
Qui nous parlent d’histoires de Berlin et Paris
J’ai la gueule dans la boue
J’ai si froid sous la pluie
La terre tremble et s’envole
En couvrant nos cris
J’ai vu tant de chair rouge
de cendres noires aussi
se mêler dans l’eau sale
de ces champs de folie
Les Allemands ont nos ages
Les Allemands pleurent aussi
Quand ils meurent Ils s’écroulent
comme nous tous ici
Ils ont souvent je le vois
Des lettres qu’on leur écris
J’ai les tiennes sur mon cœur
Je t'aime tellement Jenny !
Hourra for the Irish boy
Faut y aller, on attaque, c'est fini !
Je regarde le ciel
son bleu est si cruel
Il est bleu je suis sûr en Irlande aujourd’hui
Brave Irish Boy
You all know a 20-year-old boy in your circle. Look at him closely, and imagine him, frightened, lying in the cold mud among corpses, telling himself that he will be torn to pieces in a few seconds by the next shell.
Imagine a noise beyond the bearable, the fear that makes you pee in your pants, blood everywhere, that of others, that of animals, your own.
And then after the attacks, one of the worst ordeals for the survivors:
"Wounded soldiers, dying, shout: 'Mom! Mom!'
It is reminiscent of the cries of babies in their cradle. The soldiers suffer and are afraid of death. So, they call their mother to comfort them and give them love, it is the naked call of a little child in the cradle. »B.C.
This is what a large part of our fathers, grandfathers and great-grandfathers experienced all over Europe during the First World War.
They didn't expect this from life.
Advances in medicine and the beginning of a more regulated organization of working conditions could allow as many people as possible to take a little time to live.
But this world war threw them against each other, made them fighters who were not galvanized by any ideology. These young guys sometimes fraternized at the front posts, far from the gaze of the officers. This is what several war notebooks from this period tell us.
Many said there was nothing glorious about living in contact with fire. All you had to do was obey, move forward, die or survive, without knowing why.
Fortunately, comfort was possible, that due to camaraderie, letters from family, rest behind the lines, the photo of your loved one.
Allistair, the Irish soldier in our song, was involved like 200,000 of his comrades in this drama. He only expected from his 20s to marry Jenny, to create a family, he wanted to enjoy the simple things that make you appreciate life.
Did he survive this nightmare? It's possible.
Our song is a tribute to all these men and women broken by the consequences of this conflict.
Below as above, may Love to unite us.
