Cold wind on the harbour and rain on the road, wet promise of winter brings recourse to cold. There's fire in the blood and a fog on Bras d'or, the giant will rise with the moon.

T'was the same ancient fever in the Isle's of the Bessed that our fathers brought with them when they went West. It's the blood of the Druids that never will rest, the giant will rise with the moon.

Chorus
So crash the glass down, move with the tide. Young friends and old whiskey are burning inside. Crash the glass down, Fingal will rise... with the moon.

The wind's in the North, there'll be new moon tonight, and we have no circle to dance in its light. Light a torch, bring a bottle and build the fire bright, the giant will rise with the moon

In inclement weather the people are fey. Ten thousand year stories as the night slips away. Remembering Fingal feels not far away. The giant will rise with the moon.

Chorus