wind blaws steady from the West
the hill and through the trees
doun the road come hirplin past
withered leaves in twas and threes
and whisperin alang
haud their reeshlin conversation,
that theyíre free to gang,
man, itís juist predestination.
Man has it - sae we say.
noí for me to doot the fací;
as I hirple doun the brae,
kens what wind is at my back!