When the moon rises and the sun gives way,
The shadows creep forth as She enters the fray.
The strike of her spear will end your day;
The Morrighan's ravens will take you away.
She who darkens the battlefield skies;
She who listens to the soldiers' cries.
She flies over the fields on black wings,
Vigilant of those ready to hear how Death sings.
But She is protective and nurturing, should She choose,
Just as easily as She decides who will win or lose.
Glory and defeat, life and death,
She is The Morrighan, praise under your breath.
When the moon rises and the sun gives way,
The shadows creep forth as She enters the fray.
The strike of her spear will end your day;
The Morrighan's ravens will take you away.
Now this is something that, for once, is not inspired by my emotional state at all. It is merely something I randomly came up with. Glory to The Morrighan. The Old Gods will be remembered once more.