| Out of the darkness the torches are comin'
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| Clatter of hoofs and torches on roofs
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| Young bairns wailin', ships they are sailing
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| Burning off our homeland a new land to calm
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| Will ye be proud when yer grand fathers turnin'
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| Will ye be proud as yer son dies sae well
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| Will ye be proud when the last battle’s over
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| will ye be proud at yer lifes last remain
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| Highland men hangin' by English decree
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| Hung by their kilts as a warnin' ta the free
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| From a landlord’s voice the Highlands are finished
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| Your swords and yer plaid shall be never again
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| The targe is torn and the claymore Is blunt
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| As is the spirit of those who won’t stand
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| Betrayed and dishonoured and robbed of their land
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| What has become of a Highland band
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| There’s a new day dawning
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| For those who are Highland
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| Heads held high and proud once again
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| Two hundred years of bitter tears mourning
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| The country that’s ours must now be again |