Words and Music: Conn MacNeill
Cry sin should any artisan be idle from their laboring,
That pinctor or illuminor take ease from their pain,
As candle to the summer sun is lost in greater lumining,
Beholding fairest Lile all other beauty fades.
Cry craven should one noble blade lie sheathed at her beckoning,
Achilles 'neath the walls of Troy died for a lesser queen,
Take care, for all her courtiers go mad and lost to reckoning,
They for the love of Lile shall fight 'till they're slain.
Cry havoc, sing the songs of war; she marches in our company,
Like Maebh or Bouadicca, a queen of warlike way,
In weaving battle's tapestry she plies the shuttle skillfully,
Beware the spear of Lile, lest as warp and weft ye lay.
Cry shame should any voice lie as corn in winter buried,
While the mightiest of kings cannot withhold his song,
From this frail and humble prison, my song cries to be carried,
Soft at the feet of Lile, brightest star in the throng.