I heard sweet highland
music drift across the glen
From a lonely highland piper who from the hills appeared, and then
The mists did slowly rise up from the heather on the ground
And the skies were brightly lit up by an old familiar sound
of bagpipes and drummers marching homewards from the war
Once more victorious, although pools of blood I saw,
With faces that were grieving for brothers, sons and friends
Who all had fought for freedom, until the bitter end.
Eyes were fixed like bayonets, were stained and smeared with death,
Bellies were full of hunger, but there was no time to rest
As the enemy had gathered, regrouped with new laid plans
To regain the advantage that was taken from their hands
By men in kilts and tartans whose allegiance to the cause
Could not be broken by the mighty English Rose,
Or the longbows that were aimed and fired to foil these fearless men
Who were led by the highland piper through the mist - enshrouded glens.
New battle roared and English sword won favour for a while,
There was no calculation in their plans that Scottish Guile
Would foil and thrice outwit them, as they stood and faced defeat,
They had no other option but to turn and then retreat
Back to the lowlands: to the homelands that they knew,
To rethink how those bagpipes and their tunes could be subdued,
Why the fight for freedom was a fight that would not die
But ran deep within each Scotsmanís heart and kept their spirits high
That lived and breathed, would never leave, from the cradle to the grave
That bred a strength of character that is always on parade,
As if a mighty peacock as it spread its coloured tail.
The Scotsmans fight for freedom will never be derailed.
Will always be a part of life in times of war or peace
Written as an epilogue when life on earth has ceased,
When bricks and stone are all thatís left, when the oxygen has gone
The eerie sound of bagpipes will forever linger on.