Текст песни Plethyn - Gwaed ar eu Dwylo

O Thomas John Williams, mi welaf dy fedd
Ar gaeau glas Ffrainc sydd heddiw mewn hedd.
'Rwyt heddyw mor unig, mor bell o Fron Goch
A'r pabi yn unig sy'n cofio'r gwaed coch.

Mi welaf nad oeddyt ddim ond deunaw oed
Wrth ddisgyn i'r Somme - dyna'r hanes erioed;
Wrth ymladd dros wledydd a thros eu rhyddhau
Mi gefaist yn ddeunaw i'r ddaear dy gau.

Cytgan:
Ond ni che'st d'alw'n arwr, na dy gyfri'n wladgarwr,
Ac ni chwifiwyd y baner ar hanner y mast,
Ac ni wnaed uwch dy waed unrhyw wylo
Gan y rhai oedd â gwaed ar eu dwylo.

A phwy oeddan nhw ddwedodd wrthyt ysgwn
Mai swanc oedd o lanc ysgwyddo y gwn;
A phwy oeddan nhw efo'u hiwnifform swel
A'th ddriliodd, a'th fartsiodd, a'th fwrdrodd mewn sbel?

Ni welais drwy hyn tan rhy hwyr yn y dydd
Ni che'st to mo'r cyfle i dyfu'n ddyn rhydd,
Ond drwy'r mŵg a thrwy'r medals wrth ddisgyn i'r llawr
Mi welaist nad nhw fyddai'n wylo yn awr.

'Roedd eraill mewn cell yn dy annwyl Fron Goch
Yn llwydaidd eu gwedd, yn cael bwyd cibau'r moch,
Ond fflam eu gwrthryfel a gadwant ynghyn,
A Werddon a gododd drwy safiad di-gryn.

Mi gawsant gaethiwed am geisio rhyddhau
Eu gwlad hwy o'r dwylo a'th yrrodd i'th wae,
A mam yn Mron Goch oedd â'i chalon yn drom
Wrth glywed fod llencyn yn llwch yn y Somme.

Mae dynion yn Llundain o'u seddau'n Whitehall
Yn gyrru i ryfel rhai byth na ddon 'nôl,
O slymiau tre Glasgow, neu Gymru cefngwlad
Mae hogyn diniwed yn crychu y gâd -

I farw neu ynteu i ladd ei gyd-ddyn,
Yn enw rhyw ryddid nas gŵyr ei hun,
'Rwyt ti Thomas Williams ddim yn y byd
Yn disgyn yn 'sglyfaeth i'r ffosydd o hyd.

Translation:
Blood on their hands
About Thomas John Williams, I see your grave
In the green fields of France, in the world today.
You look so lonely, so far from Bron Goch,
And just remember CHervonnye poppies red blood.

I see that you were only eighteen years old,
When you fell on the Somme - is history;
Fighting for the freedom of nations,
You're eighteen was buried in the ground moist.

Chorus:
But you did not call a hero, was not considered a patriot,
Do not lower a little flag to the middle of the flagpole,
And over your blood is not shed tears
Those in whose hands was the blood.

And who were those wondering who told you,
As a tough guy with a gun;
Who were those in the chic uniform
Who you drilled and eventually killed him?

You did not see it until it was too late,
You do not have a chance to grow up a free man,
But through the smoke and medals, falling down,
You saw that they would not cry.

Others were in the cells in your expensive Bron Goh
With gray faces and gruel for lunch,
But they kept the flame of his rebellion,
And Ireland has risen thanks to their steadfastness.

They were imprisoned for trying to liberate
His country from the hands of those who drove you to death,
A mother Bron Goh was with a heavy heart,
When he heard that the boy was the ashes of the Somme.

People in London in their seats in Whitehall
Driven to war those who do not come back,
From the slums of Glasgow and Welsh heartland
It is a harmless kid goes into battle -

To die or kill your neighbor
In the name of freedom, which he himself did not know.
You, Thomas Williams, for no reason at all
He fell victim to these trenches.