I’ve never seen a moor.
I’ve never worn a kilt.
I’ve never been to Scotland.
But Blair is my family name
And Blair and Scotland are the same.
So when I hear the bagpipes wail
There in my mind seems a memory
Of running through the rugged heath
Down into a misty vale,
A long sword in my strong right hand,
Bent on slaying the foe beneath,
Then standing on a windy tor,
Mourning kinsmen, torn by woe.
