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• Artiste: Christy Moore
• Titre: Natives
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For all of our languages we can't communicate For all of our native tongues we're all natives here Sons of their fathers' dream the same dream The sound of forbidden words becomes a scream Voices in anger, victims of history Plundered and set aside, grow fat on swallowed pride With promises of paradise and gifts of beads and knives Missionaries and pioneers are soldiers in disguise Saviours and Conquerers, they make us wait Like fishers of men they wave their truth like bait But with the touch of a stranger's hand innocence turns to shame The spirit that dwelt within now sleeps out in the rain For all of our languages we can't communicate, For all of our native tongues, we're all natives here The scars of the past are slow to disappear The cries of the dead are always in our ears And only the very safe can talk about wrong and right Of those who are forced to choose, some will choose to fight