I had word of your coming
This is no surpise
TO find oneself thus surrounded
Nor to feel such tears of anger
Now the co*k crows no more
The hen shall slam the door
No raider, housebreaker
No bandit sheriffs men
No Galway blow-in
Shall here lay a claim
This poor widow-woman
Long before now
Has stood her ground
Admidst the white fury of the ocean
She has outfoxed
The running surge of the braking wave
And thus humbled
She will bow before no man
Go kindle torches
High on the hill of Doon
The night's ablaze with flames on the hillside
In the morning ye shall find comfort