Duffy's Cut

In the summer of 1832 The sailing ship John Stamp Tied up into the port of Pennsylvania Up the ladder from the cargo deck Poor men and women crept Into the open skies above Dia is Muire Dhuit agus Failte Romhat Duffy's my name, I cut through stone Work for me, I'm one of your own In dollars I will pay you 57 men signed up, Duffy promised to fill their cup If they cut the Malvern Valley up Mile 59 had to be on time for the railway line From Ballyshannon and The Glenties They sailed right into hell They suffered like the weeping Christ Down Duffy's Cut they sweat their blood Into his wishing well Were they taken by the sickness? Were they hunted down like scum? Was there poison in the water? Was it cholera or murder? The smoke that hid the bullets From the barrel of the boss's gun The Blacksmith and the Holy Sisters Good people through and through Whispered prayers into the victims ears It's all that they could do How come the bosses had silence on their lips As 57 Irish Navvies were buried in a pit No stone to mark their resting place No one to mourn their passing