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Mason Proffit
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Black September - Belfast
Hear the angel whisper, hear the children sing with sorrow
As they all go marching round and round, the games of peace
The boy from California win those seven medals shining
Did he race like all his brothers, eleven lives now cease
The winds of Black September slowly fall upon the peace
Hear the fife and drumming, hear the bagpipe mourn with sorrow
As they're marching now a plague to dance the Belfast skies
Those children in the rubble are they simple small tin soldiers
Have they seen the saints of death become the heroes in their lives
Will the winds of Black September fan the fire into their eyes?
Hear the Angel whisper is the fighting really over
Shall we all go rally round and round, our flag unfurled
Or will they send our boys from the fields of Southeast Asia
To the walls of old Jerusalem
Will the winds of Black September fall like shrouds upon the world
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