Here I stand, I am naked and bloody,
My fists are clenched and my body is ready.
I grip my sword, I pray to my God,
I touch the Earth, I can feel its life.

My task is clear, to defend my land,
To rally my men, to lead and command.
My strength is hatred for these flaxen men,
Who invade my country again and again!

I am Warrior, ready to fight!
I am Warrior, ready to die!
I am Warrior, noble and true!
I am Warrior, Ceitheirn Abu?

Black is the colour of my heart today,
I see their armies, I hear their cries.
Sailing forth in their mighty ships,
They are not men, they have no pride.

They came to my land in search of spoils,
To take my women, my home, my wealth.
Today we stand, united we fight,
Our Gaelic blades shall now be felt!

I am Warrior, ready to fight!
I am Warrior, ready to die!
I am Warrior, noble and true!
I am Warrior, Ceitheirn Abu?

Arise, arise, hear th call of the land,
To arms, to arms, fight for the foreign threat.
Blood, blood, spill our Irish blood,
Honour, honour, for freedom we fight.

With their knowledge of war and social ideals
They set sail for the chaos in Spain.
A country divided by political strife,
Devastated by political gain.

The Irish Brigade were already there,
And had far greater numbers than they,
They fought for the church that was wholly corrupt,
Ans supported the Catholic way.

Arise, arise, hear th call of the land,
To arms, to arms, fight for the foreign threat.
Blood, blood, spill our Irish blood,
Honour, honour, for freedom we fight.

The column consisted of working men,
Led by their leader Frank Ryan.
A noble band of 80 souls
Faced the firing line

Countless died in the searing Spanish heat,
At Jarama many Irish men fell.
The Republican brothers were in retreat,
The threat they could not quell.

In the dead of night you will hear me cry,
I will come to earth and you will die.
You cannot escape this terrible fate,
Your time has come and the hour is late.

In the robes and veils of grey,
In peaceful rest I cannot lay.
I come to your home to warn of death,
I walk the land but draw no breath.

I take the form of a hooded crow,
And gaze at the carnage of battle below.
Or on land, in the guise of a Hare,
Paralyzing victims with my piercing stare.

I am the Goddess of sword and spear,
A sorrowful mourn, means I am near.
My presence will fill all men with dread,
I wash the blood from the cloths of the dead.

Chieftains and Elders hear my words,
As I tell of my deeds from last night.
Druids sit with me, warriors too,
Whilst I recount my unholy fight.

It was late in the day when I walked with my men,
We were hunting wild boar and dear.
A lone figure approached, we readied our swords,
I stood poised and readied my spear.

As he approached I noticed his staff,
And the cross that hung from a chain.
Beneath his robe were the marks of the church,
"There is no Norsemen or Dane!"

"Blessed be" were his words to me,
Inside me a fury did grow.
He spoke once more of the trinity of lies,
And the peace that his church could bestow.

"Enough!" I barked at this waste of flesh,
As I forced him down to the ground.
"I know who you are and why you are here,
And this holy deceit you propound."

"You are here to destroy are trinity,
And to spread your catholic lies,
To rape our Goddess Eriu
And to darken our Pagan skies!"

"You are sent by our enemy Victricius,
In the name of Jesus - The Christ.
To spread the falsehood of Constantine,
Who remained Pagan all his life."

"Speak ye not of the church nor of Rome,
Show me not the light that you follow.
Poison me not with your biblical tome,
Your teachings are empty and hollow."

"No chariots nor lions have presented here,
Nor Inquisitions to torture and maim.
Hear my words when I say you will die,
And my lands shall remain unchanged."

I laughed as I pierced his wicked heart,
And snuffed out his life so irrelevant.
Another holy man dead on a cross,
Come ye men of the cloth to your end

There is a pain inside me
A pain as old as earth
That has outlived civilizations
A primordial anguish so strong
So unforgiving in its innocence
That I would cut it from me.

There is fear inside me
A fear that twists my mind
A vision of what the future holds
For my land, my home, my kin.
A future void of dignity
I would use this fear
As a warning of what may pass
I would use this fear.

There is hatred inside me
That has stemmed from a millennia
of pain, hardship and fear
I have watched my people prosper
And I have watched them turn to dust
I would watch them crawl in filth
I would use this hatred.

"We are ready to die and shall die cheerfully and proudly,
you must not grieve for all of this."

There is evil inside me
I fear its power so strong
I fear as it compels me to hate
A primal energy so powerful
An ancient force flowing in my veins
I am one with malevolence
And no regret shall come from my deeds
For I am at one with malevolence

Bran walked alone to ease his mind,
To reflect on life and love.
Sweet music he heard come from behind,
And from the sky above.

So sweet was the tune that he fell asleep,
Then awoke with a terrible fright.
In the distance he heard a women weep,
Drew his sword and held it tight.

He saw on the ground a silver branch,
Adorned with small whit flowers.
He took the wand and returned to his home,
He was absent for many hours.

His royal friends were gathered there,
When a woman appeared in their midst.
She calmed the host and sung to Bran,
Of a land of beauty and myth.

"I brought you the branch of Emain,
as a token of my desire.
Journey forth to the land of women,
Of solitude they do tire."

"No slandering will you find there,
nor treachery will you see.
I ask you now to plan and prepare,
For your voyage across the sea."

The fallowing day Bran sailed to the West,
With a host of men by his side.
Two days and night upon the sea,
Only the stars to act as their guide.

From out of the west a chariot came,
Bearing Manannan - son of Lir.
Bran learned that he will find glory and fame,
And the land he is seeking is near.

After some time they discovered the land,
A host of women stood on the shore.
Bran covered his face and raised a hand,
He was reluctant to go ashore.

The chief of women cast a single thread,
That pierced the hand of Bran.
Despite this act Bran felt no dread,
As his boat was pulled to shore.

His men paired off with the women there,
And Bran stayed with their chief.
The passage of time was hidden from them,
They believed their time was brief.

For what seemed like only just one year,
Was really centuries more.
They passed their time with joy and cheer,
As their journey became folklore.

A longing then came to all the men,
And they planned to return to their land.
The women were loath to let them go,
And issued the following command -

"Walk ye not on the land of Eirann,
To do so will bring your demise.
Go forth and quell your longing,
Then return to our western skies."

The men arrived at Eirann's shore,
And were greeted by a great host.
They heard of Bran from ancient lore,
And thought he no more than a ghost.

A soldier of bran then leapt ashore,
But instantly turned to dust.
Bran decided to leave once more,
To return to the women of lust!

Fire - Burning - cleaning the lie,
The light is burning bright.
Pain - Suffer - prepare to die,
Behold our unholy fight.

Hallowed be our name tonight,
as we cleanse the Christian church.
Purification will be bestowed
by our hands not by words.

Sound the horns of Pagan triumph,
And sweep away this fictional rectitude.
Burn the church to the ground,
Let our Pagan hate exude.

And let the world see the true nature,
Of the myth that created humanity.
This divinity mired in impurity,
A creation of mans own vanity.

So burn the ground I say,
All Conquering force of evil.
Let your irreverence wash away,
To the sound of Pagan upheaval.

"Come ye Gaelic chiefs and raise your banners high,
Let loose your warrior clans and sound the battle cry!
The Saxons are advancing, their ambition we must quell
Unite the Irish clans and send them all to Hell!"

Led by Hugh O'Neil, our most noble Gaelic Lord,
Aided by the Spanish, we amassed 8000 swords.
In Ulster we began, we readied for the fight,
The Callous inside The Pale he would plead - beg - implore!

The Earl of Essex landed here with 17,000 men,
His campaign was disastrous, the Irish routed them!
The Queen sent another - The Baron of Mountjoy,
To lead the English ranks, many Irish were to die.

The rebellion in Munster was put down with no great force,
Mountjoy was ruthless, he suffered no remorse.
He infiltrated Ulster and began a war of attrition,
Devastation of the land, civilian famine was his ambition.

The defense of Ulster became priority to O'Neil,
He still won many battles, thousands fell to Gaelic steel.
Spanish reinforcements landed at Kinsale's port,
Too far to make a difference they could offer no support.

He marched to meet the Spanish, who were held by Mountjoy's men,
Attacked by English cavalry - the Spanish surrendered then.
To Ulster they retreated but their campaign began to falter,
Mountjoy's tactics were superb, O'Neil had no answer.

O'Neil's men surrendered as famine gripped the land,
He received clemency when he relinquished his command.
little did he know, England was close to ruin,
The nine year war in Ireland almost brought them to their doom.