He stepped out from the dark,
that man of Sunday’s way,
waving an unholy shroud,
woven white, with bloody spray.

When innocence surrendered,
and marchers were disjointed
he led, bowed low in faith,
through hails of bullet spat,
young Duddy now anointed,

In No-Man’s land, he led him
from cross-haired para sights,
to die, unarmed, at 17,
his journey short,
from civil to last rites.

He stepped out from the dark,
a people’s man devout,
to bear witness for the innocent
when war and peace broke out.

This man of cloth, respected
who lived to see the peace
and hear the view of Saville
with truth at last connected.

Raise you handkerchief today
as they bring him home to rest,
that man of Sunday’s way,
who bore the flag of peace
for the innocent oppressed.