The Great Hunger

We are alone in this cursed land, left to die like starving
 dogs.
Our crops have failed us yet again; nothing grows in this 
desolate bog.
I hold my daughter in my arms. She is too weak to stand or 
walk.
Her face is gaunt, her belly empty; she cannot see, she 
cannot talk.

What money I had has all been spent, on bread and milk and 
bloody rent.
They take from us all that we have, these bastards that 
from Hell were sent.
My wife is dead. My home is lost, all around me dead and 
dying.
I grip my child, I hold her tight. I must go on, I must 
keep trying.

To the harbour is where I plan to go, to escape the land I 
love so dear.
The English are the rulers here. They eat their fill. The 
have no fear.
I look to the heavens and shout aloud "What has poor 
Ireland done?"
The world looks on and sees us starve, dying one by one.

My strength has failed, I can't go on. Beside my daughter I
 lay.
Some bread or corn could save her life. All I can do is 
pray.
I hold her hand and wipe a tear as I watch a new day dawn.
My daughter seems so peaceful now; to heaven she is gone.