The Exile


He came in the mist of a cold winters morning
Down from his horse and he knocked on the door
The eyes that looked out they were darkened by terror
He could see on his face the ill tidings he bore

It is not my will but the will of the master
Your thatch will be burned if you be not away
By sundown this evening with all your possessions
To find a new home ere the breaking of day

For these are my orders, the stones must be scattered
The white coated sheep now must rule in the Glen
No room now for pity for mothers or children
The lusting of gold is the target of men

But where can we go, those who've never known other
Than the Glens of our birth neath the high mountain snow
To cross the wild ocean would tear at our Heart roots
But fate has decreed it, it must be so

Across the wild sea we must go for our lives now
To build a new home on the far distant shore
For ever and ever the heartbeats of highland men
Must sigh for the glens that will see them no more'.

But fate is not heartless and new hearts are kindly
A fragment of Scotland will ever remain
Though oceans divide us our children will span them
And stand in the thyme and the heather again

But fate is not heartless and new hearts are kindly
A fragment of Scotland will ever remain
Though oceans divide us our children will span them
And stand in the thyme and the heather again.


MacGregor/Menzies