Culloden's Harvest-Deanta

Forget the political subjects: just listen. The only idea that comes to my mind is anger against the battles, against those who want to be slaves, those who want to live without not to lift a finger, those who talk instead listen the other's word, those who seems to be cool because the rest of the people need to rest of their work

Chorus (after each verse):

Cold the wind on the moors blow

Warm the enemy's fire glows

Black the harvest of Culloden

Pain and fear and death grow

'Twas love of our prince drove us on to Drumossie

But in scarcely the time that it takes me to tell

The flower of our country lay scorched by an army

As ruthless and red as the embers of hell

Red Campbell the fox did the work of the English

MacDonald in anger did no work at all

With musket and cannon 'gainst honor and courage

The invader's men stood while our clansmen did fall

Now mothers and children are left to their weeping

With only the memory of father and son

Turned out of their homes to make shelter for strangers

The blackest of hours on this land has begun