Last born of the clan

First one to be free

Lived inside a house

Beneath the hanging tree

Londonderry nights

That chilled him to the bone

Words were cried at night

In unforgiving tones

Blood of his men

Was gone beneath snow

He picked up his knife and his bow

The killer of Jonathan Low

Violence from without

And anger from within

Crawling through the fields

Informing next of kin

They all turned their backs

But they all knew his name

And if he could return

They’d probably do the same

Blood of his friends

Was gone beneath snow

For all that I know he died

Killer of Jonathan Low