Browsing Posts tagged scottish
As I walk along these shores,
I am the history within.
As I climb the mountain side,
waking Eden again.Dark the day.
Dark the night.
The warring dust,
the morning tribe.
Crushed by a million suns,
here the heart of you lies!Over land and sea,
I’ll come fighting for you.
Over land and sea,
a dawn is breaking before us!Return.
Take this hand,
the open wound,
the promised land.
Breaking the waves
spread the oars,
cast our badge
for the shore.Over land and sea,
I’ll come fighting for you.
Over land and sea,
a dawn is breaking before us!Tonight,
take this hand,
the open wound,
the promised land.Breaking the waves
spread the oars,
cast our badge
for the shore.Over land and sea…
Over land and sea.
Over land and sea.
Over land and sea.
Over land and sea.
(I will come for you)
Over land and sea,
(I will come fighting for you)
Over land and sea,
(I will break away)
Over land and sea,
(Ohhh, over land and see)
Over land and sea,
(ober land and sea)
Over land and sea
(I will come fighting for you)
Over land and sea
(I will break away)
Over land and seaAs I walk along these shores,
I am the history within.
~Runrig
Don’t turn to look on
the green hills of Antrim
Fermanagh’s behind you,
it’s time to move on.
Look onwards to Glasgow
and all your tomorrows.
The future lies there,
and it’s waiting for you.
As the green crosses over
to meet with the blue.
And what was the sense
when the wee ones were crying?
The cries of the hungry,
no sense to remain.
No prayer could recover
a sister or brother,
so farewell to fermanagh
the praying is done.
Don’t turn to look on
the green hills of Antrim.
Fermanagh’s behind you,
it’s time to move on.
Look onwards to Glasgow
and all your tomorrows.
The future lies there,
and it’s waiting for you.
As the green crosses over
to meet with the blue.
The land that you leave
has had too many martyrs,
and too many lives
that have perished in vain,
and too many boats
slipping out from its harbors
and cargoes that never
came homeward again.
Don’t turn to look on
the green hills of Antrim.
Fermanagh’s behind you,
it’s time to move on.
Look onwards to Glasgow
and all your tomorrows.
The future lies there,
and it’s waiting for you.
As the green crosses over
to meet with the blue.
If the wings of the eagle
could carry you over
to the land of the prairie,
then surely you’d fly.
But an ocean so wide
and a far distant country
so far from your homeland
is no place to die
So, don’t turn to look on
the green hills of Antrim.
Fermanagh’s behind you,
it’s time to move on.
Look onwards to Glasgow
and all your tomorrows.
The future lies there,
and it’s waiting for you.
As the green crosses over
As the green crosses over
to meet with the blue.
Well, I feel like going home.
I’ve tried and I’ve failed.
I’m tired and I’m weary.
Everything I ever done was wrong,
and I feel like going home.Lord, I’ve tried to see it through,
but it was just too much for me to do.
Now I’m coming home to you,
and I feel like going home.While these skies are rolling in,
and all the friends around to help me
from the places I have been,
and I feel like going home.Now I feel like going home.
I’ve tried and I’ve failed.
I’m tired and I’m weary.
Everything I’ve ever done was wrong,
and I feel like going home.
~Battlefield Band
A tall tree, turn and face the west
Oh, we’re running with the wind
A high cliff-top, we’re waiting with the rest
For this journey to begin
But these broken wings won’t fly
These broken wings won’t fly at all
And how we laugh, but maybe we should crawl
And ask to be excused
We shout loudly, have answers to it all
Oh, but we have been refused
But these broken wings won’t fly
These broken wings won’t fly at all
Girl child, you’re dancing with the stream
Growing with the silver trees
Your young questions, you ask me what it means
Oh, but I am not at ease
But these broken wings won’t fly
These broken wings won’t fly at all
~Dougie Maclean
http://www.dougiemaclean.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=78&Itemid=84
Farewell, ye dark and lonely hills of war beneath the sky.
MacPherson’s time will no be lang on yonder gallows high
Sa rantingly, sa wantonly, sa dauntingly gaed he
He’s played a tune and he’s danced it arune’ ina below the gallows tree
It was by a woman, treacherous hun, I am condemned to d’ee
Ina below a ledge a’ ma window she stood, a blanket she threw o’er me
Sa rantingly, sa wantonly, sa dauntingly gaed he
He’s played a tune and he’s danced it arune’ ina below the gallows tree
There’s some come here to see me hang, some to buy my fiddle
But a’fore that I would pairt with her, I’ll brack her through the middle
Sa rantingly, sa wantonly, sa dauntingly gaed he
He’s played a tune and he’s danced it arune’ ina below the gallows tree
He took the fiddle into bayth o his huns, and bracked it o’er a staine
Saying: “Nay other hand shall play on thee when I am d’eed and gaine”
Sa rantingly, sa wantonly, sa dauntingly gaed he
He’s played a tune and he’s danced it arune’ ina below the gallows tree
His reprieve was coming o’er the Brig of Banff, to set MacPherson free
But they put the knob a quarter a’fore, they hanged him to the tree
Sa rantingly, sa wantingly, sa dauntingly gaed he
He’s played a tune and he’s danced it arune’ ina below the gallows tree
Oh, little my mather think when first she cradled me
that I would turn a roving boy, and die on the gallows tree
Sa rantingly, sa wantonly, sa dauntingly gaed he
He’s played a tune and he’s danced it arune’ ina below the gallows tree
There were three old gypsies; came to our ole door,
they came brave and boldly-oh!
And there’s one sang high and the other sang low,
and the lady sang the Raggle Taggle gypsy-oh.
It was upstairs and downstairs the Lady went,
put on her suit of leather-oh.
It was the cry all around the door,
she’s away with the Raggle Taggle Gypsy-oh.
It was late that night when the Lord came in
inquiring for his Lady-oh.
The servant girl she replied to the Lord,
“she’s away with the Raggle Taggle Gypsy-oh!”
“Oh then saddle for me
Me’ milk-white steed
Me’ big horse is not speedy-oh
Tonight I’ll ride to the wide open field
and it’s there that I’ll spy my Lady-oh.”
So he rode east.
He rode west.
He rode north and south also!
It was when he rode to the wide open field,
it was there that he spied his Lady-oh.
“Oh why did you leave your house and your land?
Why did you leave your money-oh?
And why did you leave your only wedded Lord
to be off with the Raggle Taggle Gypsy-oh?”
“What do I care for me house and me land?
What do I care for money-oh?
And what do I care for me only wedded Lord,
I’m away with the Raggle Taggle Gyspy-oh?”
“Last night you slept in a goose-feather bed,
the blankets drawn so comely-oh.
Tonight you’ll lie in the wide open field
in the arms of the Raggle Taggle Gypsy-oh!”
“You’re a – what do I care for a goose-feather bed?
What do I care for blankets-oh?
And you’re a – What do I care for me only wedded Lord?
I’m away with the Raggle Taggle Gypsy-oh!”
So he rode east.
She rode west.
He rode high and I rode low.
“Well I’d rather have a kiss of a yellow Gypsy’s lips
than all of your cash and your money-oh!”
There were three old gypsies; came to our ole door,
they came brave and boldly-oh!
And there’s one sang high and the other sang low,
and the lady sang the Raggle Taggle Gypsy-oh.
~Scottish
Across the skies the monuments stand.
Shrines of wonder, man worshipping man;
computer ethics mock a dying land.
Down below like rats in a cage,
Success, survival, two needles in hay,
It’s Romans One facing Satan’s stare
Ah, but mountains
are holy places
and beauty is free.
We can still walk
through the garden…
Our earth was once green!
Pull down the forests we need more wood
Extend the grazing we need more food
Burning our bridges before the flood
Out on the oceans where it’s relatively safe
It’s not so easy being big as a whale
We’re all in a race on a bigger scale
Ah, but mountains
are holy places
and beauty is free.
We can still walk
through the garden…
Our earth was once green!
Homosapien, I’ve had enough
Homosapien, I’m giving up
At best your wisdom’s a shot in the dark.
So make yourself pretty, make yourself rich.
Leopardskin, sealskin, money and sex!
Apartheid, genocide, thalidomide, life,
It’s your choice…
Ah, but mountains
are holy places
and beauty is free.
We can still walk
through the garden…
Our earth was once green!
~Runrig
I really like the word “leal.” I think that we should always work for the land of the leal during the brief time we have on this earth. I have always wanted to be a leal man, but I’ve hard a hard time living up to it. I find it incredibly difficult to be honest with myself, my motives, my abilities, and my responsibilities. In other words, I often have felt disconnected from truth and humility.
For instance, one thing I’ve recently discovered about myself is that I have a tendency to change my goals to match my actions over time (giving up old goals), instead of changing my actions to match my goals. It’s like I act a certain way without knowing exactly why I act that way, but I change my outlook based on the action, without truly considering whether it is the correct or best option for me.
I want to create the land o’ the leal, and I now know that it starts with creating it in me. The question then becomes how to do it?
I’m wearin’ awa’ Jean,
Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, Jean,
I’m wearin’ awa’
To the land o’ the leal.
There’s nae sorrow there, Jean
There’s neither cauld nor care, Jean,
The day’s aye fair
In the land o’ the leal.
To me ye hae bee true Jean,
Your task’s ended noo, Jean
For near kythes my view
O’ the land o’ the leal.
Our bonnie bairn’s there, Jean,
She was baith gude and fair, Jean,
And, oh! we grud’d her sair
To the land o’ the leal.
But dry that tearfu’ ee Jean,
Grieve na for her and me, Jean
Frae sin and sorrow free
I’ the land o’ the leal.
Now fare ye weel, may ain Jean!
This warld’s cares are vain, Jean,
We’ll meet and aye be fein
I’ the land o’ the leal.
