What does Oisin feel now, leaving the golden haired daughter of the sea God
Because his heart ached for the sight of his beloved Roisin,
On returning to find her magic gone, wiped out by cruel robed men
With their hatred of all of her naked glory.
There are no words to say to this warrior poet as he crumbles,
To explain away our inaction in allowing her to be raped and broken,
But we have forgotten the poems of the Fianna, and Roisins pride,
Allowing all of our stories to be named as legends.
Our dreams of Tir na nOg are lost, dug up and emptied out to make room
For another consecrated concrete block of desperation.
The Tuatha de Danann are bleeding in the back streets
Reduced to powerlessness, as are all of the old Gods.