GROS - Drop a Tear for the Nuked Scotland скачать в хорошем качестве

GROS - Drop a Tear for the Nuked Scotland

Drop a tear for the nuked Scotland, aye, the sky went wrong, Ash in the heather, pipes cry through a ghosted song. From the Clyde to the Cairngorms, where the cold winds throng, We hold on, we hold on—Caledonia strong. Aye, I woke to the haar and the sirens, och, silence after, Ben Nevis wore a veil, shattered chapters—earthquakes in our laughter. Faslane shadows over lochs that used to mirror planets, Now the starlight’s out, the night’s a wound, the map can’t understand it. Cracked slate roofs, soot tattoos on sandstone tenements, M8 empty like a sermon with no congregants. Ceilidh floors gone quiet where the fiddles used to reel, Now the reel is Geiger clicks, truth bites harder than the steel. Kelpies weep a river’s worth, bridges hum a low lament, Shipyard ghosts salute the cranes—rusted regiment. We used to toast with Irn-Bru, now we sip regret and rain, Try to rinse the fallout, but the stain knows every name. Drop a tear for the nuked Scotland, aye, the sky went wrong, Ash in the heather, pipes cry through a ghosted song. From the Clyde to the Cairngorms, where the cold winds throng, We hold on, we hold on—Caledonia strong. Edinburgh’s closes whisper, granite memory’s a choir, Thistles wear a crown of gray, burns run dull with wire. Skye’s Cuillin cut the clouds, now they carve through smoke, Gaelic prayers braid the wind—*tha sinn fhathast beò,* we spoke. Ballads in the bothy turned to psalms against the blast, History in our marrow says the storm will never last. We’ve seen clearances and winters, we’ve been tempered in the forge, Now we kindle in the ruins, let the stubborn heart disgorge. McLeod tartan round the shoulders of the bairns we gotta shield, Make a garden out the glass, sow a promise in the field. If the future’s just a rumor, we’ll recite it ‘til it’s real, With a drum made out of thunder and a vow the stones can feel. Drop a tear for the nuked Scotland, aye, the sky went wrong, Ash in the heather, pipes cry through a ghosted song. From the Clyde to the Cairngorms, where the cold winds throng, We hold on, we hold on—Caledonia strong. Raise a cup to the names on the wind, let the list be sung, Every village, every tongue, every bell that’s never rung. If the dawn feels late, we’ll wait at the Forth with a flame, Paint the morning back in colors, write “we’re here” across the frame. Aye, the raven’s on the spire, but the robin finds the beam, Even fallout has a day it fades into a dream. We’ll lace up the boots of hope, march the braes in gathered light, Patch the kilt of sky with stars, stitch tomorrow into night. No surrender in the marrow, just a stubborn Highland will, Even broken pipes can sing if the lungs are steady still. So I rap for every heartbeat under ash and iron skies, For the bairns who’ll plant a thistle where the old world died. Let the heather learn our names, let the lochs reflect our grace, Let the map redraw its borders round a kinder human place. Drop a tear for the nuked Scotland, aye, the sky went wrong, Ash in the heather, pipes cry through a ghosted song. From the Clyde to the Cairngorms, where the cold winds throng, We hold on, we hold on—Caledonia strong. If the wind forgets our tune, we’ll hum it in the stone, If the road forgets our steps, we’ll carve another one. Drop a tear, then lift your chin—the thistle’s not alone, Caledonia, after fire, grows a brighter home.