Domnonée is the modern French form of Domnonia or Dumnonia (Latin for "Devon"; Breton: Domnonea), a minor kingdom in northern Armorica (Brittany) founded by British immigrants from Dumnonia (Sub-Roman Devon) fleeing the Saxon invasions of Britain in the early Middle Ages. Headed by the same ruling family, it was variously separate or united with its motherland and its Latin name was used for both indiscriminately. The mainland territory of Devon included Trégor, Dol-de-Bretagne through to Goélo, and Penthièvre. Its early rulers are sometimes considered "princes" but seem to have successfully united Brittany and become high kings under Saint Judicaël in the mid-7th century.
At the time of the Roman conquest of Gaul, the rough area of later Domnonée was held by the pagan Curiosolite Gauls. Domnonée is said to have been founded in the 4th century by Christian Briton immigrants; it greatly expanded in the wake of subsequent waves of refugees from the Saxon invasions of Britain. Domnonée retained close political links between the Brythonic (Celtic) territories in Britain (Wales, Cornwall, Devon), and the newly created Armorican Britain (Brittany), and it hosted many kings, princes, clerics and other leaders who came over from Celtic Britain. The sea was a unifying rather than divisive factor. In the traditions relating to the settlement of Brittany by the Bretons there are several kingdoms of this kind. A number of legends and hagiographic lives of Breton saints contain references to the close political ties between religious communities in Wales and Brittany. The close proximity resulted in possessions on both sides of the Channel by some religious orders. For example, the Abbey of Notre-Dame de Beauport, before Henry VIII, had parishes on the coast of Goélo and in Devon.
Tied, conniving control
The faith deceived for the sake of today
We have sold tomorrow
I hate this, i hate you
Who accepts this lie in silence
I hate this, our false values
Why don't we all see through this
Unheard, fixed in your own world
Lost in society, too far gone
Is it too fucking late?
I hate this
I hate a veiled invert frustration
Turned in, onto, your own
From the hand that rocks the cradle
Ashes will unfold
Release ourselves from these actions
How you keep us distracted
What do you really wish
To understand exactly what's behind
Your real desire here
Inside, nothing holds freedom silent
And we will die in our own ignorance
Awaiting blindly