On a sweltering Melbourne morn in 67,
when locals' emotions and consciences were also
simmering,
Ronald Ryan was sent to the coventry of an unmarked grave.
This is his epitaph.
You were a loving spouse and father,
a tragic larycon.
Who could know the drama, the pain
that your troubled life would bring?
Drifting into petty crime,
you had no wish to harm.
Ronald Ryan, you're doing time.
You were the criminal with charm.
On a road near condemnation,
poor old George Hudson fell.
The breakout you were making
would take you straight back to hell.
But he who fired that fatal round,
only God would ever know.
Ronald Ryan, near men decided,
you laid that water low.
And your story,
it was written around stone walls of blue.
Was your dying not your living?
Why, we remember you.
You were a victim and a villain.
Your soul was known to few.
But all now is forgiven,
and we remember you.
And in the corridors of power,
mercy had no room.
Justice had tense hour.
Ronald Ryan, you were doomed.
For the will just would not falter of the one who ruled inside.
You were sacrificed on the altar of high and mighty pride.
And your story,
it was written inside stone walls of blue.
It was your dying, not your living.
Why, we remember you.
You were a victim and a villain.
Your soul was known to few.
I hope that all now is forgiven,
when we remember you.
It was 1967.
I had Friday on my mind.
You were getting set for heaven.
And we were out of time.
With a courage unforgotten,
on the day of lasting shame,
Ronald Ryan,
we knew your dying
was never quite in vain.
And your story,
it was written around stone walls of blue.
It was your dying, not your living.
Why, we remember you.
You were a victim and a villain.
Your soul was known to few.
I'm hoping all now is forgiven,
when we remember you.
I'm hoping all now is forgiven,
when we remember you.
Remember you.