The Pogues - Birmingham Six - HD Audio & Video Remaster
To translate is always to betray
I’m bringing back (lucky me!) my little column of free and unfaithful translations (more interpretations than translations), language - even when it’s the one you were born with, purely by chance - is a barrier and communication is only a utopian desire; so take with a grain of salt this stuff that we only call translation for convenience.

The "Birmingham Six" were six Irish citizens who, in 1975, were falsely accused, beaten, tortured, and eventually sentenced to life imprisonment for the attack, claimed by the IRA, on the Mulberry Bush and Tavern pubs in the town of Birmingham on November 21, 1974. They were released in 1991, and the conviction became an embarrassing case of injustice, since some evidence was ignored and mainly because they were kept in prison despite having nothing to do with the IRA.
A similar fate befell the "Guildford Four," who were imprisoned for 15 years.

The Pogues - Birmingham Six

There were six men in Birmingham, four in Guildford,
who were caught, tortured and framed by the law.
And the bastards even got promoted,
while those six are still stuck in prison just for being Irish, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.
In Ireland, you end up in Maze prison, in England, they throw you somewhere and throw away the key.
God help you if you ever reach these shores,
because the cops need someone to drag behind that door.
And you count the years, first five, then ten,
while you grow old in an isolated hell,
in your stinking cell, around the prison yard.
From one wall to the other, and back again.
Cursed be the judges, the policemen, and the wardens
who tortured the innocent, falsely accused.
For the price of a promotion they sold justice.
May the judged be their judges when they rot in hell.
And you count the years, first five, then ten,
while you grow old in an isolated hell,
in your stinking cell, around the prison yard.
May these whores of the Empire lie awake in their sweaty beds
for having closed their eyes to the sins of their bosses.
Meanwhile in Ireland, eight or more men lie dead,
kicked and shot in the back of the head.
And you count the years, first five, then ten,
while you grow old in an isolated hell,
in your stinking cell, around the prison yard.
And you count the years, first five, then ten,
while you grow old in an isolated hell,
in your stinking cell, around the prison yard.