Drunken, reckless children
Brash impulsive youth
Shame their family name
With mother's milk
Still wet upon their lips
Arrogance becomes
The master of reason
Swords are drawn in haste
To defend their wounded pride
Too late the hour
To see its royal blood
That has stained the ground
Seized, imprisoned,
Their lives forfeit
The sons look to
The gods to save them
A man, honest and noble,
The finest warrior in all the land
Came to claim his sons
Conall Crog Buidhe
Begged the king to pardon
The loss of his sons
To slate his thirst for vengeance
A quest for a glorious prize
Would be required
