In Loch Loman's nave,
near the Abbey of Columbia
come the earthly bed of Wallace, Campbell and Doune before.

Here lies the boy of red tartan
and his mouth earns the pie.

Mossy cradle,
wooded nymphs:
an infant wails in hunger.

On Aberdeen's hills
a clan's blood washes over.

"Ne'er agin, me Celts,
O' Scotland calls fer ye whole."

From Bobby Burns' hand
it passed to him.
Neither words,nor fame.
Just a hunger.
Just a hunger.
Just a hunger.

A chit from Brittania.
Eat on, Macwing!