Scotland
Forlorn, forgotten, Golden Isle my Grannie´s heart that made her smile She tore her dress walking up the Aisle Bowmore my Love Churches, whiskey, beaches, green Home to beauty yet unseen Lords and Ladies Proud like Queens Bowmore my Love Demons, Angels who can tell Old folk now gone I knew so well Stories died and scared to tell Bowmore my Love Tatties, peas, my Granny´s Soup A chicken picked from out the coup parties galore and witches moot Bowmore my Love