I fear that bead black eye
That pierces me to the bone
The [bad word] stare
The glassy glare
That fingers me alone.

Too cunning for a bird
Her mind is warped and crooked
Again and worse
Her voice is harsh
And grates course and wicked.

And the masts of Morrigan
Are [bad word] across the world
See the masts of Morrigan

An omen sour as gall
She revels in our gore
My skull her cup
Drinks my blood up
The one-eyed gimpy [bad word] 

She deals in the black [bad word] with the soldier and wolf
The battle sounds
Death rattle mourns
She steals our eyes for herself.