Could you please upload these lyrics to the site? They are by the Celtic Black Metal band Cruachan.

C�chulainn (The Hound of Culan)

The Hound of Culann, The Hound of Ulster,
He is of the otherworld,
His father is God Lugh Lamheada,
His mother Dectire is mortal.

Culann the smith was holding a feast,
For the Ard Ri Conchobhar,
His mighty Hound had been unleashed,
To guard the fortress' mighty door.

Setanta arrived late at the gates,
He did not know of Culann's Hound,
The Hound attacked and met its fate,
It lay there dead upon the ground.

Culann was nagered when he learned,
His favorite Hound was no more,
But Setanta swore he'd stay at night,
To guard the fortress' mighty door.

He took up arms on that day,
Which Cathbad declared auspicious,
He who took up arms on that day,
Would become famous but short lived.

His body begins to twist and turn,
His flesh revolves within his skin,
His features turn red one by one,
And the slaying then begins.

He returned to Eamhain Macha,
And threatened to destroy the town,
The naked women were then brought forth,
He then began to calm down,

He fell in love with Emer,
Her father was appalled,
"No warrior shall be with her
unless by Domhnall he is called".

He went to train with Domhnall,
And learned from him all that he could,
You must go and train with Scathach,
He bowed his head and said he would.

Having learned the martial arts he
returned to claim the hand of Emer.

Her father he quickly refused,
Cuchulainn showed his battle temper
He entered the fortress and left many
of the warriors dead,
Emer's father killed himself
The two lovers then were wed.
Cuchulainn, The Hound of Culann x3
He is the Son of a God.

Cuchulainn, The Hound of Culann x3
Serpents and Dragons he fought.

Cuchulainn solely defended Ulster,
During the mighty war and tain.
When Medb of Connaught invaded,
He stood his ground despite the pain.
He is called a tragic hero'
With Caladin his Sword,
He killed his best friend Frediad
at the battle of the Ford.

Cuchulainn, The Hound of Culann x3
His is the Son of a God
Cuchulainn, The Hound of Culann x3
Serpents and Dragons he fought.

In Cuchulainns final fight,
A javelin was thrown at him,
It sliced his stomach like a knife,
and caused his innards to fall out.

He staggered to a nearby lake,
Where he took a final drink.
A raven who was drinking his blood,
tripped over his intestines.

The hero gave a last great laugh,
and tied himself against a stone,
He faced his enemies standing up,
But he knew his life was quickly going.

For three days the foe were scared,
Until A crow perched on his arm,
An otter began to drink his blood,
"Cuchulainn is Dead", is what they said.

Bloody Sunday

Remember well the 30th of January,
The feeling of dread that was in the air.
The people marched for their right to equality,
They only wanted to be treated fair.
Shots were fired my a mindless military,
The people ran they were unarmed
Across the world we will read of Derry
And those who died by oppressive hands.

13 people lost their lives that Sunday,
Women, children and innocent men.
Many wounded lay crying in agony,
The knights of Malta attended them.
And so began the government cover up.
And so began the lies and deceit.
Soldiers statement would be changed and torn up,
No reports would come from men on the street.

As the years went by the people began to talk,
The hidden crimes were now being told.
Innocent protestors - shot in back,
Left to die in the winter cold.
The bullets used had all been tampered,
Maximum injury would come from them.
This tyranny will not go un-noticed,
Our day will come again.

And these, by Waylander...

Once Upon An Era

Drift back to an era now gone
Kindred spirits fought to overcome
Druids held sway over kings
And the thrill of the hunt prevailed
People were one with the land
And harmony reignet in the cycle of life

I too am of the earth
Celtic fire burns in my veins
I too am a warrior born
I fight the pain and misery
My spirit forever flys free

Almost any path is secret
Until you've travelled it yourself
Universal flowers abound
Try to choose the right path
A stairway to a higher plain
Live for this world and the next

The standing stones
The stone circles
A life so complex
Yet so simple
Once upon an era

I enter the fray ungrieving
In my heart of hearts believing
That the path of many futures
I will awah si oicly
Enduring the endless knot
My belief will see me through

Celtic fire!! Warrior born!!


Morrigan's Domain

Black is the Morrigan on this plain
Dark is her aspect, no remorse or shame
Washer at the ford for those who can see
The crone and the hag, goddess trinity.

Goddess of war, denizen of death
Seeker of souls,
She awaits your last breath...

Nightmare visions, choked with the bodies of the slain
Rivers run red, ravens alight on mounds of lifeless forms
Feasting horribly on carrion and broken bones,
Once proud men, someone's sons and brothers all.

Where now is the glory in your war
No glory in your war
No glory in the grave

Hear the shriek of the Morrigan
As she circles preparing to dine,
To dine upon the slaughtered souls
To feast on fresh dead flesh
Triumphant scream of ecstasy
Exultant in the misery
Wallow in the pain

Putrid stench of entrails and emptied bowels
Morrigan's minions glut on unseeing eyes
A picture painted in detail so obscene
Morrigan greets all those souls who die.

Eternal war she craves
Battles unceasing
Combatants increasing
Sweet stench of blood on the wind
Dishevelled warriors, expressions grotesque
Dismembered bodies, expressions grotesque

Her in her glory, goddess of war
Her in her glory, Morrigan's domain.

This is the lyrics of a song by a Parisian rap music group. The members of the group came from Britanny and tried (not always successfully) to honour their Celtic culture. This song is about Curchulain.

Le Chien du Forgeron
by Manau

D'histoire en histoire en cycles de l�gendes,
il y en a une dans ma m�moire qui restera
parmi les grandes �pop�es pa�ennes pr�s du pays du clan des landes,
en pleine terre d'Ulster province de l'Irlande.
L'histoire d'un gamin, encore jeune fougueux,
� peine 7 ans, il a d�j� le feu dans le bleu de ses yeux.
Les druides lui ont pr�dit un dr�le d'avenir,
un choix � faire, la cons�quence de son devenir.
Prendre les armes avant sa majorit�,
il deviendrait le plus grands des guerriers que cette terre ait port�.
Mais �ph�m�re serait sa vie,
devenir h�ros de guerre, mourir, avoir son nom dans les �crits.
Le gamin n'h�sita pas une seule seconde.
Que �a doit �tre bon d'�tre le plus grand guerrier du monde.

Doucement viens, rappelle-toi de ce nom.
On l'appelait Curchulain, le chien du forgeron.

Tant de guerres, tant de mis�res v�cues sur la terre de ses p�res,
il n'a jamais pri� le Dieu qui honora sa m�re
d'un fils unique qui trouva son surnom.
En tuant le chien de Chulain, lui qui �tait le forgeron.
Sa vie �tait faite de d�fis, de conqu�tes.
Chaque soleil lev� faisait de lui un nouvel �tre � abattre,
combattre mais dangereux en fait,
car tel �tait le fruit de ceux qui voulaient trouver la d�faite.
De tout l'Uster, il en �tait le champion,
gardien de l'�le verte, il en est devenu patron.

Maintenant viens, �coute bien ce nom.
On l'appelait Curchulain, le chien du forgeron.

De bataille en batailles, personne ne peut comprendre.
Le chemin de sa destin�e �tait d'entrer dans la l�gende.
La terre des anciens, des �crits pa�ens,
ce que j'ai pu recueillir de sa vie au fond de mes bouquins.
Voil� cette histoire ne s'ach�ve pas l�.
Le cycle de la branche rouge a toujours continu� ses pas !
A travers le temps, j'en garderai la foi.
Les r�cits des dieux, des rois et des tribus de Dana.
Que c'est bon de r�ver, de vivre cette culture.
Je t'invite jeune homme � d�couvrir cette litt�rature.

Maintenant viens, �coute bien ce nom.
On l'appelait Curchulain, le chien du forgeron.

Curchulain le chien du forgeron.
Et tel �tait son nom.

Thats class, Charlotte. Celtic Rap?! Strange, but not the first time I've seen it (Seanchai). Charlotte, is there any chance of a translation?

I'll try to translate it tomorrow. But it might take a long time and I guess the translation will be far from perfect.

Slan go foill

Here is a translation of the song "Le chien du forgeron". I guess it's not a good translation. I'm far better at translating English into French. Moreover, there are some cultural references I'm not able to translate and that my dictionnary French/English has never heard about. If anyone as any change or any information to give about this text, feel free to do so. I add that even in French, this text is not very good (even the grammar at times !), I just talked about it because it was about Curchulain.

Slan go foill


The Blacksmith's dog
by Manau

From stories to stories, to legends cycles,
There's one which will remain in my memory
Beyond the grand pagan epics, near the moors' clan,
Right in the Ulster land, province of Ireland
The story of a kid, still young and bold,
Only 7 years old, and he already has fire in his blue eyes.
The druids predicted a strange future to him,
A choice to be made, the consequence of what he will become.
Take arms, before he's a grown-up,
And he would be the greatest warrior this land has ever seen.
But ephemeral would be his life,
To become a hero, to die, to have his name in the written documents.
The kid didn't hesitate any second
It must be so good to be the greatest warrior of the world.

Just come here, remember this name
He was called Curchulain, the blacksmith's dog.

So many wars, so much misery lived on his forefathers'land,
He never prayed the god who honoured his mother
with a single son who found his nickname,
By killing Chulain's dog, who was the blacksmith.
His life was made of challenges and conquests
Each sunrise was making of him the new one to be killed,
To fight, but in fact so dangerous,
Cause so was the result for those who came to be defeated.
Of all Ulster, he was the Champion,
The guardian of the Green Island, he became the boss.

Now, come here, listen to this name
He was called Curchulain, the blacksmith's dog.

From battle to battle, no one can understand.
Th way of his fate was to enter the legends.
The land of the forefathers, the pagan writings,
What I could collect from his life in my books.
But this story doesn't end here.
The Red Branch cycle has always kept going !
Throught the Time, I'll keep the Faith.
The stories of the gods, the kings, and the Tuatha de Dannan.
It's so good to dream, to live through this culture.
I invite you, young man, to discover such literature.

Now come here, listen to this name.
He was called Curchulain, the blacksmith's dog.

Curchulain the blacksmith's dog.
And so was his name.

That was class, that's really good for rap ;-)
Thanks for the translation, Charlotte.