The local Kirks will acknowledge that prominent and pagan song on the twenty-fifth day of this first month of monstrosity, whilst witches consult around dark artistry, as we sing this song of yesterday and remembrance.
I have ensured that the roof of our cottage is thatched with straw, whilst the howling winds from the West coast echo her disapproval against the face of solidarity.
We must keep the demons out.
Oh, brother of olden Scottish folklore, I beseech you to give credence to the culinary order, where degrees of freedom announce seniority in this customary ritual of contemporary history.
I will hold my knife in a ritualistic manner and ensure that the guests are satisfied with culinary festivities and drams of Scottish prowess.
Oh Thomas, if you dishonour your wife on the Ayrshire coast, the volume will increase and the flickering light of the candle will ***** out.
I love your look, therefore you can cross my bridge of sensual clothing, as it conforms to the ancient proclamation:
Weel done, cutty sark.
Are you committed to this order?