In an old peat bog at Ummericam, sits the cruel headcutter's stone,
stained with the blood and fused with the ghosts, of men who are now long gone.
In the gorse and the furze their cries could be heard, when Johnston was out on the roam
their fates soon sealed with the headhunters wield, and where red still stains the loam.
The shadows and echoes permeate the land, where O'Hanlon's ghost holds…
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