AnIollan

When childhild's fire was in my blood, I dreamed of ancient dreemen, Against the Church who boldly stood, as Pagans and as Heathen. And then I prayed I yet might see, the Druids in the glen, And Ireland long the churches' toy, be Pagan once again.The Old Gods only sleep you know, although betrayed and slandered. They guarded us from every woe, and blessed each crop and fine herd. Then Patrick, he drove the snakes away, and brought the churches in. 'Twas a bloody poor bargain, I would say.And ever since that wretched day, when first Ireland went Christian, We've suffered woe in every way, with our freedom made the worst "sin". They set us at each other's throats, to murder kith and kin. Too long we've been their starving goats.Both Catholic and Protestant, led us round by our noses, Distracting from the deadly scent, of England's bleedin' roses! Kick every preacher 'cross the sea, burn out their golden dens. It's the only way we'll ever be free -- let's be Pagan once again!