An Gorta Mór, Pt. II

Still it lingers, the stench of famine
And the sorrow of Celts remains
A land in ruin, cut down from the blight
And the weight of guilt to have lived

Ashamed of life, devoid of hope
We walk alone on scattered bones
Our fallen kin, with stolen souls
Dead and nameless they lay

An Gorta Mór
Robbed of life
A great unrest
Buried by time

An Gorta Mór
A tainted land
A world turned black
In rotting fields

An Gorta Mòr
An Gorta Mòr