Death to Evnissyen

He was the troubled sea

Mane mangler, tail tearer

Colt cutter, stallion slasher

Knew danger hung in Irish hall

Millstone hands grinding skulls to flour

But the wind blew up the waves

Sister's-son slayer

Nephew murderer, king killer

And a battle storms around

The Irish take their dead

Make them fight again

So he crawls amongst the corpses

With them is laid out

In the cauldron's foaming mouth

Stretches sinews, brakes the bowl

Metal shatters into four

And he, the gaoler's son,

Falls to his own pyre.