The blood-lines of our horses are hazy now
Those who would know them are lost or gone away
We have cleared fields and pastures four our herds
They are steady friends, sure-footed and well fed
We fly on the wind to keep the enemy guessing
We travel in the nigh to catch them sleeping
They dare not leave their villages unprotected
Or we will swoop down and carry off their dear ones
The old hill-forts are our bivouacs at night
The old roman towns our hiding place
The Latin tongue has dried up here long ago
Blown on the dust of the departing legions
Save us O Lord while waking
And guard us while sleeping
That awake we may watch with care
And asleep may rest in peace
We harry the enemy who lumbers along on foot
They are better seafarers than land fighters
They stick together, there's a safety in numbers
For we pick off any strays or small scouting parties
We surprise him in the morning and kill him as he runs
Over land we know because our fathers farmed it.