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Donnelly, the King Slayer

In Erin’s vale where echoes cry,
Beneath the storm-lit emerald sky,
A warrior rose with fist of flame,
Donnelly bold, a feared name.

With hands like thunder, steel unshorn,
He felled the mighty, crowned in scorn.
No king nor lord could stand his might,
His fists bore Eireann’s ancient right.

The Red Hand marks our battle’s call,
A sign of strength to break the thrall.
From Antrim’s coast to Liffey’s tide,
We stand as one, in fearless pride!

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