They looked out from the
|
Fortress on the hill
|
There came a single warrior
|
Returning from the kill
|
The spoils of war hung
|
From his horses mane
|
The bloody heads of enemies
|
That he had freshly slayed
|
|
They saw the face
|
The eyes so sullen
|
Could only be the
|
Young C?Chullain
|
|
Thunder rising
|
Thunder rising
|
Thunder rising
|
Early in the morning
|
Cities burning
|
The world keeps turning
|
Thunder rising
|
Early in the morning
|
|
The son of Lugh MacEithleen knew no fear
|
For just one blow at any foe
|
To tell his end was near
|
So many tried to mock this Celtic son
|
They taunted and they teased him till
|
He slayed them one by one
|
|
And so they came
|
And so they've fallen
|
at the hands of
|
Young C Chullain
|
|
Thunder rising
|
Thunder rising
|
Thunder rising
|
Early in the morning
|
Cities burning
|
The world keeps turning
|
Thunder rising
|
Early in the morning
|
|
Long ago the legend has it
|
How the mighty Ulster men
|
Battled with the King Of Connacht
|
Fighting to the bitter end
|
No one knew what foolish reason
|
Caused this skirmish to begin
|
Was it treachery or treason
|
Or just the idle threats of drunken men?
|
|
Thunder rising
|
Thunder rising
|
Thunder rising
|
Early in the morning
|
Cities burning
|
The world keeps turning
|
Thunder rising
|
Early in the morning
|
|
Thunder rising
|
Thunder rising
|
Thunder rising
|
Early in the morning
|
Young men are dying
|
The widows are crying
|
Thunder rising
|
Early in the morning
|
|
-----------------
|
Thunder Rising
|
| Gary Moore |
