Word has come from Dublin City
She's lost her sweet angry voice
Born with a spirit his flesh could not contain
Brendan Behan is dead
No stranger to life
He lived right enough
No stranger to the glass in his hand
No stranger to the cause
He fought for all his life
Brendan Behan is dead
A hungry feeling
Came o'er me stealing
While the mice were feeding
In my prison cell
And the old triangle
Went jingle jangle
All along the banks of the Royal Canal
On a fine spring evening
As I lay dreaming
And the lag was weeping
For his gal, Sal
And the old triangle
Went jingle jangle
All along the banks of the Royal Canal
And the wind was sighing
As the day was dying
And the lag still crying
In his prison cell
And the old triangle
Went jingle bloody jangle
All along the banks of the Royal Canal
In the women's prison
There are seventy women
And I wish it was with them
That I did dwell
Then that old triangle
Could go jingle bloody jangle
All along the banks of the Royal Canal
Ireland has lost
Her sweet angry voice (and the old triangle)
No longer will his poems fire desire (jingle bloody jangle)
Will ring out in Gaelic
Or sound through the Main
Brendan Behan is dead