Black September / Belfast - Mason Proffit

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