what happens when you're the sole
male in a supermarket,
filled by females,
cashiers, and the customers...
you walk in, you walk out,
which is not as bad as being intimidated
by nine prostitutes while
you wait your turn..
you walk in, and then you walk out...
with aud lang syne
booming from your ears...
(i kannie **** cry at tje track..
mountains man... just mountains...
i kannie not cry...
or forget that i danced the Kayleigh
without donning the kilt)
o heart o thistle...
o my dear earned hands,
to hand over the land
worth of till and toil...
my own and sole wish...
that Scotland take my heart
and gives unto it... bloom...
once upon the cobbled stones
of the Royal Mile...
then upon the dawn of day,
upon Arthur's Seat...
for what i am worth,
to have but this sight,
of seeing far an wide...
Edinburgh...
the only city whereby i refused
the ingenuity of the compass...
Firth of Forth...
however welcome
or unwelcome...
through to the backstreets of
Dundee...
and behind the history of Glen Cove...
i cry...
because Scotland is the only
"convenience" of home know to me...
a home, that is more...
it's an ideal...
an.... idea...
England can never be it...
England could never be "it"...
England was merely
the handing over of Hong Kong under
Blaire...
it was the Labor government...
the late 90s...
but Scotland was
so much more... and will forever
be more than just much more...
had the heart eyes,
it would see this thistle baron
as for what i see it as...
as i leave it, as i've left all prior
palaces of my habitation...
always the fonder memory,
than a fond-of experience
among the living...
may the dead serve the same exacting
justice upon me,
as i, among the living,
revive them... back t life,
and the knife of mortality's
burdens...
and us do our part,
to part,
with a hope of once more,
congregating, in either a heaven,
or a hell.
