The Cosmic Paint Anthology

Their Land

The rain falls down in sheets of glistening silver; the sky covered in a grey sea. Mist rolls over grass fields and smoke rises from beyond the valley, hanging low across the hill. When it rains like this, Scotland calls for me.

The smell of the damp air fills my lungs and purple heathers cover the hillside where I used to live. Far off laid the mighty mountains, risen from the groaning and grinding of lithic giants under the earth. These mountains tell of blood spilt, lives lost, and love unfaltering; history made thousands of years before.

A wind breaks the sudden stillness, and awakens the spirits of the land and forces that shaped its design.

And blazing forth in radiant glory, the bagpipes, the instrument of the heavens, roar across the landscape, invoking tales of the heroes of legend, lovers whose fates forever hold them apart, and wars long and dreadful.

Oh take me to back to Scotland

Where the sun shines bright

And the grass gleams green

Where girls' hair burns red

Show me the highlands once more

Down in the valleys I'll go

O'er mountains and 'cross rivers

I'll look for my love

And when I find her dancing

With moonbeams in her hair

And dew across her brow

I'll take her and wife her

And sing for her softly

For Scotland is good

And Scotland is brave

So may the people be good

So may the people be brave

To ne'er forfeit their lands

Their stories and their names

Live their life as a Scotsman

Until their last day