Natives en Christy Moore

For all of our languages we can't communicate,
For all of our native tongues we're all natives her,
Sons of their Fathers' dream with the same dream,
The sound of forbidden words becomes a scream,
Voices of anger, Victims of history,
Plundered an set aside, grown fat on swallowed pride.

With promises of paradise and gifts of beads and knives
Missionaries and pioneers are soldiers in disguise
Saviours and Conquerers, they make us wait,
The fishers of men they wave their truth like bait
With the touch of a stranger's hand innocence turns to shame,
The spirit that dwelt within now sleeps out in the rain

For all of our languages we can't communicate,
For all of our native tongues, we're all natives here,
The scars of the past are slow to disappear,
The cries of the dead are always in our ears,
Only the very safe can talk about wrong and right,
Of those who were forced to choose, there are some who choose tofight.
For all of our languages we can't communicate.