Which mother of Eire are you this evening 

As you talk in turns as other women 

Raise your stake, take medusas throne

As the hordes redeem you and the charge of them makes way

Who is this Melpomene,  ever up in arms 

Some tragic beauty, the banríon drámaíochta

A  decadent poetess and muse to all who observe from the bowl

These divine possessions, but this is your favourite

They too have their favourites on this sacred ward

The more you go there, into the realm of these spirits of the night

These undead, who figure you, they crown you noble beauty of catastrophe

 that black caped dagger of a girl.

Kvr