The Pogues

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E
Ignacio lay dying in the sand
A single red rose clutched in a dying hand
         Am       C                   Am
An' the women wept to see their hero die
         G         C   G         C        G C G C
And the big black birds gathered in the sky

Chorus:
 G                 C     G                 C
Mother of all our joys, mother of all our sorrows
G    C          G     C
Intercede with him tonight
    D             G      C G C
For all of our tomorrows

The years went by and then the killers came
And took the men and marched them up
the hill of pain
And Lorca, the faggot poet, they left 'til last
Blew his brains out with a pistol up his arse

chorus

The killers came to mutilate the dead
But ran away in terror to search the town instead
For Lorca's corpse, as he had prophesied,
just walked away
And the only sound was the women
in the chapel praying

chorus