Слова:
Barbara Dickson From The Beggar S Mantle

it's life And the green leaves they grow rarely She's howket a grave by the lecht o' the moon Fine flowers in the valley An' there she's buried her sweet

? The truth's in your right hand; Ye's hae some o my gold, and some o my gear, And the twelfth part o my land.' 'It's I will marry your daughter Janet

where the songs all come from Finger picking weary strings Gonna set his life to music Found a reason for the rhyme Waiting for the break The day he's

me And what's left for decent people to believe in It's not a question of to be or not to be And what's the point, it's only us that we're deceiving

heather bands will never staunch the flood There's none but the Witch of the Westmorelands can save thy dear life's blood" So turn, turn your Stallion's