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I saw a blue umbrella in princes street garden |
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Heading out west for the lothian road |
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An evening news stuffed deep in the pocket |
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Little did i know that he had a heavy load |
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I found i was walking grierson's dockyards |
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Where the only thing working was the foreign film crews |
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Making an impressive documentary |
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For the news, for the news |
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To the satellite |
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And all we're left with is the black, black oil |
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With a sense of pride and identity |
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The waters left behind we shouldn't forget |
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Laid low in the books of history |
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I saw the starlings wheel round georgian spires |
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They're gathering on patrol in the skies |
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In the distance burns the flame of grangemouth |
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And the dream is lost |
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Everything |
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What it could inspire |
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When we take, you know there is no distance |
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How we're talked about in the secret affairs |
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Taking our ride into the distance |
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To be what it was or could have been |
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What i should have said |
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And all we're left with is the black, black oil |
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With a strong sense of national pride |
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'till we take some more steps to unity |
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Take it back to me |
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Take away |
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(?) |
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And all we're left with is the black, black oil |
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With a strong sense of national pride |
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Calling the (ministry?) for identity |
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What it meant to me, what it said |
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What we could have had |
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I saw a blue umbrella in princes street garden |
|
Heading out west for the lothian road |
|
An evening news stuck deep in the pocket |
|
Little did i know that he'd fall |
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Carrying a heavy load |
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And all we're left with is the black, black oil |
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With a strong sense of national pride |
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Calling a name in the sake of unity |
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What it meant to me you'll never know |
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You'll never know |
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I see myself forced in servant exile |
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Turning around at another's command |
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All i want to see is identity |
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What i could have been |
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What i did |
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Could have been |
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Internal exile |
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Internal exile |
