Prepare the first born child, cleanse the infant's skin
Wrap the child in linen let the sacrifice begin
To the plain of adoration to our idol covered in gold
The mighty God Crom Cruach, his power we behold.

Surrounded by a circle, of standing stones so tall
Crom Cruach reaches to the sky, we hear his ancient call
Oh old and powerful deity, we are yours to command
Guide us in our struggles, and bless this ancient land.

We offer you our first born,
This innocent life so pure,
Sacrifice in your name,
So we may long endure.

Bring the blade to the infants neck, slowly cut the skin,
Tear open the veins of life - blood flowing from within.
The child begins to flail, and tries in vain to cry,
The calms and becomes silent, soon the child will die.

At the feet of Crom Cruach, we leave the infant corpse,
A vital sacrifice for our land, we offer no remorse.
We pour the blood on our idol, we smear it on our skin,
We hear the sound of chanting, from our sacred holy men.

We leave the sacred site, as the blood begins to dry,
Returning to our village, under a blood red sky.
A prosperous time awaits us, Crom Cruach is appeased,
No more fear of famine, nor worry of disease.