The silver horned stag does traipse the land
from oceans to Mac LÍr's sea.
Scanning the Land with the knowing eyes,
He sees Her scars and roars loud,
echoing the pain She does feel,
as man does inflict itself on a tired land.

Her air does reek of noxious gasses.
Her hills be pits filled with dead waste.
Her forests and Her soldires vanished.
Her temples once sacred now scarred.

Cár imigh an t-each?
Cén áit na fir?
Cé t-ionad lucht bronnta na taisce?
Cén t-áithreabh na fleitithe?
Conas aoibhneas na bruÍnne a athghabháil?
Tá said marbh.

"The Gael has brought ruin to my sister.
Only Fódhla and Banbha still stay unscarred.
By the savage greed has Ériú been battered.
If She dies Her sisters will fade.
I have cursed ye in the hope of ye changing.
I one day hoped to show ye true life.
I hoped one day to walk as man among ye
instead of hiding in the hills as a stag I ride.

I grieve for ye Tuatha d'Éireann.
I grieve for ye my Sisters' whores
Who sell and rape yerselves daily.
To the highest bidder ye will be sold.
First boy-child, then gold, now immortality
- how can I still want to intervene ?

For one thousand years ye have behaved the harlot
killing sacred white animals with ears scarlet.
Now on hills as a sheep in the company of wolves.
I still do wonder how I can fill the gulf.
The void that became when you denied your gods.
You pitiful Irish are now my lost cause."

21/6/2007