Sheltered the gifts of old rest easy within Blessed knowledge, Never fading, Never silent Remnant understanding of those below, Hidden only from denouncing forms They waste away, Spittle on the hearth Saving only curses for the healer, Misplaced virtue and distrust They waste away, Spittle on the hearth Gatherings within, the blind without Echoes plainly to open ears, the ancient call of the Bandroithe Envious, Weary, Saving suspicion only for the healer They waste away, Spittle on the hearth Life begun and grown from the coffin, Life's procession in funeral disguise Death a mystery to those below, Death a border grown dim with time So cry out denouncements, scornful decries of piety Shun, Shame, Sacrifice Spew virtue into ears long deaf, Waste lifeless breath on desperate words Saving prayers against the healer They waste away They waste away They waste away Spittle on the hearth
“Mór mo náir; Mo chlann féinn a dhíol a máthair Mise Éire; Uaigní mé ná an Chailleach Bhéarra”Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
