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