One year from now.

Ask them why they want to stay
in union with their foes,
And the same old record crumbles on
the same of zephyr blows.

Don’t let them emmets sway your vote,
don’t fall to their demands.
These lands, these glens, these purest airs
are yours for your own hands.

Assimilation, Olde Scots proud,
‘Neath grasp their iron paws.
Know you not what freedom means?
The things that she ignores.

There’s nations in this awful state
in states all of their own.
But born were these by robbers
who deleted all t’was known.

Today marks the beginning,
the end of troubled times.
Where people who forced clearances
are tried against their crimes.

You ask me what I know of pain
of torture and deceit.
So I pray of you o’er Celtic air
There shall be no retreat.

And on that day a year from now
the Scots all voted YES.
For hope, for pride, for dignity
Saor Alba and God bless.


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