| The earth cold and damp presses against my shroud
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| Mortality has fled my mortal frame
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| Immortal will forever be my name
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| This earth has drank much blood
|
| In the fight to save my land
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| Strange it is this feeling knowing my crown has passed to the Gall’s hand
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| The bells knell in sorrow as I am lowered down
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| The cold earth is silent for a time
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| My headstone, a cross of stone, bears my name
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| To remind all men that here I lie
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| Deep within the bosom of the world
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| I finally become aware
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| Noises that I cannot comprehend
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| Whispers at first but now a roar
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| Deafening it is, fear does grip my soul
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| What is this ancient horror that calls me to its own?
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| A thunderous crack sounds overhead
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| As my cross is shorn in two
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| Has God passed sentence on my life?
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| I fear it could be true
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| My soul is slowly being sucked back to whence it came
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| Slowly I realise it be not God
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| Manannán be his name
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| The earth which I no longer feel press against my skin
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| The shroud half hanging from my corpse
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| Trailing still within the bog which spews me up from the bowels
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| Of this ancient land I knew
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| Ochone, what is this hell on earth
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| Is this what from my dreams grew?
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| Putrid when living, damned when dead |