This is the story of, the lady of the Fir Bolg
The great one of the earth
Her sacrifice was great, she paid it with her life
Her ardour withered and waned

Through the dead land flowers grow, in the bloodline of the forest
The parched dry earth of summer, the first rain of Autumn
Earth laid upon a corpse, in the Cathedral of the living land

Her funeral was celebrated, with games and tournament
Her final gift, to her land
They buried her up high, on a golden autumn day
A green circle on the distant hills