In Relig Odhrain

When Saint Columba landed on the island of Iona

His friend Oran landed with him

Though some say Saint Oran waited

In the shadows of the island

Waiting for the saint to land there

I believe they came together

Came from Ireland

Where like brothers Were the blond

And brave Columba and the dark man they called Oran

He was odhran

Like the otter

Was the other

There were others

And they landed on Iona and they said

We'll build a chapel

It's what saints did when the landed

Oran：priest of sun or fire Or from Odhra

Meaning dark haired

But their chapel kept on crumbling

And Columba took the answer from a dream or revelation

That his building needed Oran

Needed death in the foundations

Others claim it was doctrinal

And Saints Oran and Columba Were debating

As the Irish love debating

About Heaven

Since the truth is long forgotten

We are left with just their actions

By their actions shall ye know them

Saint Columba buried Oran Still alive

With earth about him

Buried deep

With earth upon him

Three days later they returned there

Stocky monks with spades and mattocks

And they dug down to Saint Oran

So Columba could embrace him Touch his face and say his farewells

There days dead

They brushed the mud off When Saint Oran's eyes blinked open

Oran grinned at Saint Columba

He had died but now was risen

And he said the words the dead know

In a voice like wind and water：

He said

Heaven is not waiting for the good and pure and gentle

There's no punishment eternal

There's no Hell for the ungodly

Nor is God as you imagine

Saint Columba shouted Quiet

And to save the monks from error shoveled mud onto Saint Oran

So they buried him forever

And they called the place Saint Oran's

In its churchyard Kings of Scotland

Kings of Norway

All were buried On the island of Iona

Some folk claim it was a druid priest of sunlight

That was buried In the earth of good Iona

Just to hold the church foundations

But for me that's much too simple

And it libels Saint Columba

Who cried Earth

Throw earth on Oran

Stop his mouth with mud this moment

Lest he bring us to perdition

They imagine it a murder

As one saint entombed another underneath that holy chapel

While Saint Oran's name continues

Martyred heretic

His bones still hold the chapel stones together

And we join them

Kings and princes

In his graveyard

In his chapel

For it's Oran's name they carry

He's embraced in his d**nation By the simple words he uttered

There's no hell to spite the sinners

There's no Heaven for the blessed

God is not what you imagine

And perhaps he kept on preaching

For he'd died and he had risen

Until silenced

Crushed or muffled by the soil of Iona

Saint Columba

He was buried on the Island of Iona Decades later

But they disinterred his body and they took it To Downpatrick

Where it's buried with Saint Patrick and Saint Brigid

So the only saint is Oran on the island of Iona

Don't go digging in that graveyard for the kings of old

The mighty

Or Archbishops and their riches

They are guarded by Saint Oran

Who will rise up from the gravedirt like the darkness

Like an otter

For he sees the sun no longer

He will touch you

He will taste you

He will leave his words inside you

God is not what you imagine

Nor is Hell and nor is Heaven

Then you'll leave him and his graveyard

And forget the shadow's terror

As you rub your neck

Remember only this：He died to save us

And that Saint Columba killed him on the island of Iona