Dagda, Father of the Gods

In the green hills of old Éire
It echoes the step of an ancestral God
With harp in hand and a sacred cauldron
He brings the life, the laughter and the bread of the mortal
Lord of crops, time and fire
His mantle is the wind, his home is the beyond
Where your harp changes the course of fate
It brings winter, and so does spring

With a staff that gives life or takes away the breath
He guides kings, warriors and druids at the top

Dagda, Father of the Gods, guardian of earth and heaven
His cauldron never empties, his singing never died
Between the world of the living and the spiritual realm
He walks smiling, eternal and immortal
Dagda, king of the Tuatha Dé Danann
Time bends to its sound
The world is born when he sings
And he sleeps when he silences his tone

It is said that his harp was stolen by the Fomorians
He called the stations by their sacred name
Spring, summer, autumn and winter
They danced to the sound of enchanted fate
Lover of life, wine and celebration
But wise as the oldest druid
On the battlefield, laughter turns into thunder
And his shadow decides the end of the losing struggle

He is not perfect, but he is the heart of the world
Creator and destroyer in one second

Dagda, Father of the Gods, guardian of earth and heaven
His cauldron never empties, his singing never died
Between the world of the living and the spiritual realm
He walks smiling, eternal and immortal
Dagda, king of the Tuatha Dé Danann
Time bends to its sound
The world is born when he sings
And he sleeps when he silences his tone

In the Otherworld he waits
With ancient fire in the eye
While men forget the gods
Dagda still hears the wind singing

Dagda, Father of the Gods, spirit of creation
From seed to thunder, from birth to extinction
As long as there are forests, rivers and song
The Great Father will live in every heart