Edinburgh

Oh city on a hill…
Keeper of the Stone of Scone,
city on the coastline,
Off shores sailed, and
cobble streets trodden,
your castle is full.

The wind whips sharply
through your gates.
Tourists browse at the market
place, and Deacon Brody’s sits
loudly at the end of the strip.

The Scotch distillery calls to sailors,
where Oban sings out to ordinary men.
The sailors drink and so do I.
The tune of Scottish ale delights us.
We feel it in our veins and remember
a different time, a different life.

Many battles were fought here,
lives lost here,
but the victories live forever on in
the hearts of the people.
The ancestors remember.

Oh merry town,
what happened to your glory?
Keeper of the Stone,
city on the coastline,
Off shores sailed,
and cobble streets trodden,
your castle is empty.