Oh, the sky is shining bright, bright blue,
Shining, shining, down on you -
My little, little Mary Sue,
Who so bravely rode that gilded horse
High upon the tor, stood there tall
And full of pride;
Who went to war against the tried -
Never, never lost their stride,
Instead called upon their rallied flock,
Those pristine hides and virgin voices
That had yet to wade in the red river;
Giver, giver, but quick on the trigger -
Purge the wicked and hush the words,
Burn the books, and ban the birds,
May the ashes cushion your fall.
Oh, you take the high road,
And I'll take the low;
I'll be in Scotland before you..