To the east lies lines and lines immortal
Pounding relentless, wearing all down.
No matter those who stand against them
(Those) Minions of Manannán
Pounding to dust all
The rough becoming smooth
The edge – edgeless
Souls shackled a dying dream
All that is left now is to scream
But no noise comes as bodies be riddled with disease
And with great dis-ease I stand alone
The last Gael against the Gall.
The back be broke by the strain of yoke
With weight worse than that borne by the ox and the plough
I falter and falter and bend and then break
All for a petty dream that most would forsake.
And now so close to furrows I can see worms and smell clay
I realise too late I am wasting away
And so to the east lies my sight immortal where the Minions of Manannán are bearing all down
So I drag my burdens down to the shore finally drowning as they become no more.