We hivnae hid a fooneral yet.
Nae send-aff fur ye,
nae sayin oor piece.
Yir ashes lie in a kist,
ready fir skailin.
Ye didnae want a palaver,
bit it his left us kinda loast,
foonderin, no shair
whit we're aboot
fur ye wir the guidin licht,
intae the safe herbour.
We want tae sing a sang
tae ye fir the chances
ye gied us, the yetts
we widnae hae apened,
hid yo no pit oor haund
on the sneck,
the places we wid
never hae seen, bit fur you.
Maybe ye are richt.
As long as yir still wi us
oor journey is aye forrit.