Is fuath liom mo fhoinn
Mar ní thuigim iad nó
Ní feidir liom?

Ba mhaith liom túsa
Agus do thine
Ach tá heagla ormsa.

go maithe dia dom é!
is peacach mé,
agus tá bás uaim.

le do thoil,
sábháil dom uaim féin.

tá brón orm...

I'm sorry,
but, God, there is a sadness on me.

I know you have begun your move on,
and I promise I am happy for you -
but I have more work left in my heart
agus dúnéaltach mór.

bláthanna ghorma,
spéir dearg,
anam corcra.

You could have been mine.
You could have been all ours,
we Children of the Dark.
But the Angles came
imposing their own as supreme,
though so tainted by French.

But like our myths you stand strong
in a way.
Few speak you, know you,
but you are you.
Not pure for none are,
but you are you,
just like our tales of old
which you sang so high.
The Angles came, but you remain.

Nothing serves to fumble with your heartstrings
quite so well as a ceremony of the dead
(and nearly so)
where a tall man,
with black tie draped across broken heart,
wrestled with his voice;
in order not to display
what we are so practiced at hiding.

Ag an mbuaicphointe
na coimhlinte
Ní raibh siad cinnte.