Out of the darkness the torches are comin' 

Clatter of hoofs and torches on roofs 

Young bairns wailin', ships they are sailing 

Burning off our homeland a new land to calm 



Will ye be proud when yer grand fathers turnin' 

Will ye be proud as yer son dies sae well 

Will ye be proud when the last battle's over 

will ye be proud at yer lifes last remain 



Highland men hangin' by English decree 

Hung by their kilts as a warnin' ta the free 

From a landlord's voice the Highlands are finished 

Your swords and yer plaid shall be never again 



The targe is torn and the claymore Is blunt 

As is the spirit of those who won't stand 

Betrayed and dishonoured and robbed of their land 

What has become of a Highland band 



There's a new day dawning 

For those who are Highland 

Heads held high and proud once again 

Two hundred years of bitter tears mourning 

The country that's ours must now be again