08

Lyrics

​(Intro)
(A solitary, low bagpipe drone. A slow, heavy drum beat starts—thump... thump... like a funeral march. The singer’s voice is a low, gravelly whisper.)
​(Verse 1)
The retreat was called at midnight, when the oil began to spill,
The Boxers breached the eastern gate, they came to burn and kill.
The Irishman looked back at me, his face was pale and grey,
"We have to leave the tower, lad, or we’ll all burn away!"
But the wounded couldn't stagger, and the gate was jammed with stone,
I looked at my old chanter, and I knew I stood alone.
"Get the women to the cellar!" I shouted through the roar,
"I’ll give you all the cover, from the ceiling to the floor!"
​(Verse 2)
I bolted shut the heavy oak, I climbed the winding stair,
The heat was biting at my skin and singeing off my hair.
I stood within the belfry, where the bells had ceased to ring,
And I filled my lungs with sulfur just to hear the chanter sing.
I played a tune of glory, I played a tune of home,
To draw their fire toward the sky, beneath the temple dome.
Every bullet found the stone, every arrow found the wood,
While my brothers reached the safety where the inner bastions stood.
​(Chorus)
OH, I’M GIVING UP MY BREATH TO SAVE A BROTHER’S LIFE!
A SACRIFICE OF TARTAN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STRIFE!
LET THE PIPES ROAR OUT THE SIGNAL! LET THE MUSIC FILL THE SKY!
I’M THE WALL THAT WILL NOT CRUMBLE! I’M THE ONE WHO HAS TO DIE!
THROUGH THE THUNDER AND THE EMBERS, HEAR THE HIGHLAND SPIRIT SCREAM!
FOR THE LADS WHO REACHED THE GARDEN... IN A DYING SOLDIER'S DREAM!
​(Bridge)
(The bagpipes explode into a frantic, heroic melody. The drums become thunderous and fast. The sound of crumbling stone and roaring fire is layered into the music.)
They’re safe behind the iron!
They’ve made it to the trench!
I can hear their distant shouting
Through the smoke and through the stench!
One more verse for Scotland!
One more breath for Skye!
I’m the shield upon the mountain!
And I’m holding 'til I die!
​(Verse 3)
The floor is turning into coal, the beams are giving way,
But the pipes are screaming louder than the breaking of the day.
I see the Irishman look up, I see him touch his cap,
He knows I held the tower to bridge the bloody gap.
I’ve finished "Scotland the Brave," I’ve started "Auld Lang Syne,"
A final gift of mercy for the boys along the line.
The tower’s leaning over now, the sky is turning red,
But I’m playing for the living... and I’m playing for the dead.
​(Outro)
(The drums stop. The bagpipe melody becomes slow and shaky, losing air. The drone wavers and lets out a final, long, wheezing sigh.)
The air is gone...
The tune is done...
They made it... every single one.
(Silence)