There, rose a high idol after many battles Which was called the CromCruach He would break any peace between the tribes He was their god Crom the withered in thick mists Those who were frightened Never would reach the High Kingdoms There were hurting themselves There were beating palms, Hammering their bodies While mourning in the name of the fallen One Enslaving them They were shedding endless floods of tear
cromcruach, crom, hammering, enslaving, high