wir een

aabody wes greetin

(I wes tryin no tae)

wir faces aa weet
wi the burns an strins
o thir flittin, wir nebs
hauden prood abuin

quhit wye can we thole it?
acause we maun.

hearken til me, brither -
ye maun be sauf, ayewis

wir een wes aa wattery,
wir herts breuken apen,
as

we stuid there, leukin,
as he drave awa i the
dreepin weet o the
dreich hairst efterneen.
it wes aa cloods abuin,
an mirk.

he gaed awa, an it maun be
tholit. we kent he wid dae it,
an noo he's daein it, an it maun
be tholit.

yer da wull keep yer mam,
an I'll see tae yer sister

juist be aye sauf, brither
an we'll keep wirsels sauf
fur ye, tae

bit ye maun come hame
aften

we maun dae whit we maun dae,
an ye maun dae whit ye maun,
an ye maun come hame aften

Faain

tae gang til heiven,
juist tae hae tae faa
doun til the yird again,

it's ane o ma sairest pynes.

brither, A'd lou tae come
an see ye, bit A'm feart
fur the faa

aathing's braw i that stound,
naething's wantin whan A'm wi ye

an syne hit's by ower suin
an A'm faain, fast, winnin awa
frae the lift (cried 'florida'),
quhaur ye bide

(ye ghaistie at haunts me aye)

tae A win til the yird like a
stane, an at's the wye A feel,

juist like a stane,
deid an caul an alane
again

breuken

It wes a perfit fite dou,
fite as snaa,
breuken upo the bleck gate

aa reid aa owre,
wi its ain bluid,
sae bricht an veive

bit aye mair lillier
nor ony picter

deid an shent
but sae bonnie,
maugre't

shaveled wings
raxin fur the lift

een i deith

aye perfit

Is at ye?

Hairst, is at ye?
Is it ye A hear
reeshlin throu the leafs?

Is is ye A snoke
risin i the douce reek o
late simmer ingles an bleizes?

Dae A see ye, Hairst,
aff i the distance,
comin owre the braes?

Is it ye A feel souchin i
ma auld lugs, touslin ma
dwinin hair wi cauldrif fingers?

Hairst, is at ye A pree,
crisper nor a soor green aipple,
garrin me rax fur ma jaiket?

unbiggit

och, jeems, it wis ye!
it's ye'll be leain me neist

anither brither -

i'm bein unbiggit
piece bi piece

wull i no be juist
a fadit ruin suin eneuch?
it'll be a cutty process noo

yer sister'll be the bleck corby
settin upo the bricks an
stanes that's me, unbiggit

skellochin her lane i the
mirk, waukrife nicht

bidin fur a sign o ye,
thirlt til her dule