Hills of Scotland

A pipe and drum corps marches through half-empty streets,
While bagpipes, beckoning me to Scotland’s ancient hills,
Overpowers the drummers’ elated beats.

The wailing of the pipes proclaim perceived defeats,
Their music penetrates my despondent soul and wills
Me to march, with bagpipes through half-empty streets.

Wearing my ancestor’s kilts, I want to leave these deadly streets,
And stroll through Scotland’s ancient hills,
While bagpipes still overpower the drums’ joyful beats.

To my spirit, the bagpipes’ music is the bitter sweet
Nostalgia for crumbling castle walls and craggy hills
While my body follows the pipes and drums through city streets.

For my mind, the bagpipes’ wail is reason enough to weep
For loves personal defeat, while the bagpipes still
Overpower the drummers’ happiest beats.

I want to leave this city’s depressing deceits,
I want to go home to Scotland’s ancient hills,
While the pipes and drums still echo though these filthy streets,
And the bagpipes still overpower the drums jubilant beats.