AtLast_[07]

>> Sons <<

Brian's sons and sons Boruma As gone Tara, passed Cashel down Til Murchertach MacLochlainn struck And to Tir Eoghain took the crown. Dermot kin of Mac Mael na mBo Smote MacFaelin thus made king. And so it went in Eire successions Dermot sailed from Norman strings Whose arrows pierced the manly myth Of majesty of burley arms To that of conquest drawn in secret, Guile, lies, and fatal charms. Were they selfless time field farmers? Planting us within their deeds? Are we weeds in Eden's garden Or the fruit of noble seed?

If reckless fate is all that matters Turloch, Strongbow, boil past. In caldrons of uncaring fortune Just how long can misery last?

Should our passion fail our cause, Forfeit dream and hope to fears, The burning needs we have will chill Of fire quenched in waves of tears.