Mibbe ah'm deid, mibbe ah'm no...

Mibbe ah'm deid, mibbe ah'm no... but ah am only a character in some puir sowel's addled heid, born oot o ower much whisky an no enough guid sense, so dinnae greet, jist heave awa lads, ah'm no deid yet... or mibbe ah am...

Onyway, if ah am deid, ah'm the only yin. The indyref's ower, the lies were selt an boucht, the votes cast an counted, an fer the time bein we Scots hae been pit back in oor box. Actually, we climbed in, but the point's the same, naebody's deid. It wis a noisy battle, a messy yin, but no a bloody yin. Noo that it's ower, an we lost, oor priority is ta protect oorsels, oor kin, an oor nation. We hae tae build a wa tae defend whit's oors...

The bells are tolling fiercely,

And the cry comes louder in,

Mothers wailing for their children,

Sisters for their slaughtered kin.

All is terror and disorder,

Till the Provost rises up,

Calm as though he had not tasted,

Of the fell and bitter cup;

All so stately from his sorrow,

Rose the old undaunted chief,

That you had not deemed to see him,

His was more than common grief.

'Let them cease that dismal yelling

It is time enough to ring

When the fortress-strength of Scotland

Stoops to ruin, like its king.

Let the bells be kept for warning,

Not for terror or alarm;

When they next are heard to thunder

Let each man and stripling arm.

Bid the women cease their wailing:

Do they think that woeful strain

From the bloody heaps of Flodden

Can redeem their dearest slain?

Bid them cease, or rather hasten

To the churches, every one,

There to pray to Mary Mother,

And to her Anointed Son,

That the thunderbolt above us

May not fall in ruin yet,

That in fire and blood and rapine

Scotland's glory may not set.'

Noo look, ah ken it's a tad dramatic, an ah'm no suggestin fer a meenit that we send aw oor wummen tae the Kirk tae pray, no when the wummen o Scotland are some o oor best fighters, an fer the life o me ah cannae see whit guid prayin'll dae, but taen aw in aw, it fits wi whit ah'm feelin. We've lost, we've aw got wounds tae lick, but sae long as there's fight left in us, even if it's only a hundred o us, we're no aboot tae roll ower an show oor bellies, we're a fightin bunch, an Scotland's glory will not set, no yet...

This wis a message fae the other side...