Lyrics by Roger Coghill

                   D                                                             G

Come round by my side and I'll sing you a song.
                  D                    C                             A

I'll sing it so softly, it'll do no one wrong.
              D                        G                            A

In Houla one Friday the blood ran like wine,
                 C                     G                            D

And the people kept calling  for Freedom. 

That cold summer evening no eyes saw the sun,
And Rasha Abdul Razaq’s dark  number was one.
In an old Muslim mosque there was no need to run.
For  the Mullah kept promising Freedom,

The clouds they were dark and the desert wind blew,
And Abdul Hussein brought the number to two.
The falcon of death was a creature he knew,
But  the Mullah kept singing of Freedom

The mosque had been crowded, and no one could see
That little Omar’s next dark number was three.
His prayers and his feelings would shame you and me.
Yet  the Mullah kept singing of Freedom.

Young Hamsa Habeeba then entered the door
And the number her killers had given was four.
She asked for a blessing but asked for no more,
And the Mullah kept singing of Freedom.

In Houla that Friday the noise shook the ground,

And people all over the earth turned around.
For no one recalled a more cowardly sound.
While the Mullah kept singing of Freedom.

The men in Damascus demanded of me,
How many young souls lie beneath yonder tree?
I asked them right back with a tear in my eye.
Is there room for just fifty in heaven?

That Friday  has come that Friday  has gone.
And I can't do much more than to sing you this song.
I'll sing it so softly, it'll do no one wrong.
For there’s nothing more gentle than Freedom.

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