♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪

Yet in the mottled speckled glen,

the Flo’ers of Scotland scattered, slain.

The fortresses along the Tweed

could not call them back again.


The glen with water meadow

marked out by hoary tree,

hems the graves of those who fell,

in Kramer's quest to keep us free.

♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪♫♪