Rain on Kilmainham – A Ballad for the Fallen of 1916

In the grey stillness of dawn, as rain taps gently on old stone, the echoes of gunfire still seem to linger in Kilmainham Gaol. Over a century has passed, but the memory remains sharp — a wound etched into the soul of Ireland. “Rain on Kilmainham” is a ballad of sorrow and remembrance, written for those who stood before a British firing squad in May 1916, condemned not by crime but by conscience.

This song is not a call to arms — it is a lament. It mourns the loss of brave souls who gave everything for the dream of a free Ireland. It recalls the final steps of men like Pádraig Pearse, James Connolly, Thomas Clarke, and others — led from their cells by the boots of Empire, blindfolded in a cold yard as dawn broke through the mist. The ballad draws its power not from rage, but from grief — from the quiet dignity of sacrifice, from the soft weeping of a nation watching its future die behind prison walls.

Kilmainham was never just a prison. It became a place of martyrdom, of transformation. Before the executions, public opinion was mixed about the Rising. But when the first volleys of bullets rang out and the bodies fell, the tide turned. Ireland stirred. The rebels’ blood soaked the flag deeper than any proclamation could. The Republic declared in 1916 was born again — not on the battlefield, but in a stone yard, beneath a mourning sky.

This ballad remembers that rain — not as weather, but as a symbol. The rain that fell on the day of the executions washed nothing away. It bore witness. It mingled with the blood. It lingered like a veil over Kilmainham’s yard, heavy with history, with pain, with unspoken prayers.

Each verse of “Rain on Kilmainham” is a tribute to the human cost of freedom. It does not glorify war. It honors courage. It remembers that Connolly, already wounded, had to be tied to a chair to face the guns. It remembers that Pearse spoke not of vengeance, but of peace for future generations. It remembers that these men died not with hatred, but with hope — hope that Ireland might one day be her own.

This ballad is for them — and for all who carry their memory. It’s for the stones of Kilmainham, which still hold the silence. It’s for the Irish heart that still beats with longing and pride. It’s for every child who grows up hearing their names and wonders what kind of country they dreamed of when they gave their lives for the unborn Republic.

So let the rain fall. Let it speak what history books cannot. And let the music carry their names where wind and words alone fall short.

Rain on Kilmainham on Spotify

🎙️ “They aimed to end a nation's claim, But crowned it bright in Ireland’s name.” Whether you're a singer, student, or son of Ireland — this is for you. #RainOnKilmainham #1916Rising #IrishBallad #Pearse #Connolly #KilmainhamGaol #IrishHistory #OriginalSong #IrishFolkMusic #EasterRising #IrishRebellion #TradBallad #PoetryOfIreland #MartyrsOf1916 #RebelSong #RepublicOfIreland #IrelandRemembers #FolkSong #BalladsOfIreland Verse 1 The yard lay still in morning rain, Where freedom paid its price in pain No crowds to cheer, no bands to play, Just dawn and death, were steps away. Verse 2 Each name was called in morning grey, Pearse stood tall, with words to say. Connolly bound, yet would not yield, His stretcher faced the soldiers’ steel. Verse 3 The walls were thick, but truth still climbed, They could not cage the rebel mind. They aimed to end a nation's claim, But crowned it bright in Ireland’s name. Verse 4 The sentry flinched, his stance went stiff, The priest read slow from sacred scripts No traitor’s shame, no bandit’s sneer— They faced the guns without one fear. Verse 5 Their mothers wept behind closed doors, The children whispered rebel lore. From prison yard to market stall, Their dying breath became our call. Verse 6 Now rain still taps on rusted gates, Like mourners come a century late. Their ghosts don’t cry — they simply wait, 

For us to rise, or share their fate. 

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