I heard the words of warring men,
Words of blood and dread:
Words to set a host to rout
And leave a million dead.
“What power shall you wield,” they said,
“In the coming war?”
“I’ll rain brimstone on their heads
And blister them full-sore.”
“What power shall you wield,” they said,
In the coming blight?”
“I’ll cleave the hills with molten stone
And sear their mortal sight.”
“What power shall you wield,” they said,
“In the coming drought?”
“I’ll hide the lochs and rivers ‘til
Their livers are dried out.”
But that was when the moon arose
And lit the ancient night;
I stropped my bill, I clenched my claws
And gave myself to flight.
I laughed the warlike men to scorn,
I mocked their empty words,
And swore on every thousand men
I’d set ten thousand birds.
Now Mag Tured’s deep in blood,
Black beneath the moon
And all my ravens rend the air
With their raucous tune:
“What power shall you wield,” they cry,
“How will you take the spoil?
Your blood and brawn is only worth
A tillage into soil.”
“This power we shall wield,” they croak,
“Of nurture and of birth.
The seed shall sprout, the flower unfurl
Where you lie in the earth,
For all your words are empty now,
Your veins no longer flow.
You gave your blood to Morrigu;
The rest is for the crow.

(Lyrics by Giles Watson)