On[G] a far off August day,cold young[C] men in ambush[G] lay,
On a roadside on a hill where flowers[D] grow,
So much[G] hate for one so young,who was[C] right and who was[G] wrong,
Though a thousand years may[D] pass we'll never[G] know.
Candles[G] drippig blood,they placed beside your [C]shoulders,
Rosary[D] beeds like teardrops on your[C] fin[G]gers,
Friends and comrades standin by,in their[C] grief they wonder[G] why,
Michael [D]in their hour of need you had to[G] go.
And when evening twlight came,gentle fell the August rain,
Oh but you lay still and silent on the ground,
As we hung our heads in prayer,in our sorrow and dispare,
We wondered was it friend or foe who shot you down,
Now the flame that you held high,when you called out to the sky,
To end this senselell killing and this shame,
Has now passed to other hands and is carried through the land
By some not fit to even speak your name.