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Dennis Locorriere


The rain is softly fallen
Upon my knees' bare
My Kilt is gently swaying
In the Highland morning Air









 





 
 

 
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
Culloden
Noe drar meg veldig mot Culloden området  oppe i Highland. Ønsker og tro at jeg engang levde der opp :) Kanskje falt jeg i slaget i 1746 ?
Something pulls me to the Culloden area in the highlands. Maybe I once lived there? Maybe I fell in the battle of 1746 ?
 
  • The heather bloomed a shade of red
    it never knew before.
    Where lay the gallant Scottish dead
    in rows at Culloden Moor.

    Please tell me sir, have ye been?
    Have ye seen me bonnie lad?
    He marched away ta fight, ye ken.
    And I fear the news is bad.

    Dear mhathair that such must weep
    for ye’r braw and bonnie one.
    Who like a hero sad does sleep
    on the fields where battles’ done.

    They fell beneath the cannons roar
    with naught but sword in hand.
    So many lads come home no more
    to this wild and glorious land.

    Please tell me sir, where doth he lay
    that I might go and bring him home.
    To the glen where he did spend his days
    and the land he called his own.

    Brave mhathair t’would not have ye lead
    midst the sorrow and the gore.
    Ye'r laddie sleeps with the honored dead,
    at the shrine of Culloden Moor.
    He sleeps the sleep of the gallant just,
    of a people made now poor.
    And his place belongs, as you ken it must
    with the martyrs at Culloden Moor.

    Please tell me sir, did they do us proud?
    Did they fight for God and King?
    Did they shout their war cry long and loud?
    Will the bards their glory sing?

    Aye, good women, they bravely fought
    for their hearts could do no less.
    Yet their sword and courage came to naught
    ’neath the fire of Brown Bess.
    Cumberland suffered not to let
    naught of mercy to be found.
    The last met fire and the bayonet.
    May he ever be hell bound...

    So let not yer anguished teardrops fall
    that he'll no be home no more.
    For the highlands ever hear the call
    of the ghosts of Culloden Moor...

  • Right field













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    Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,

    Scots wham Bruce ha' aften led,
    Welcome to your gory bed,
    Or to victorie!

    Now's the day and now's the hour,
    See the front o' battle lour;
    See approach proud Edward's pow'r
    Chains and slaverie!

    Wha will be a traitor knave?
    Wha can fill a coward's grave?
    Wha sae base as be a slave?
    Let him turn, and flee!
     
     
     
     
     
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