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■ The oak
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Aye think o this
When winter breezes blaws aroun' whare silent thochts are filled wae gloom and drifting words,they echo past frae fearful man an fearful lass In haunted hooses and misty lans whare Ghosties an gobblins an unco bans Pass atween this an theirs, that form amidst tha thunders crashing storm. Aye tucked up aroun yeer mithers apron wae teeth a nashing an voices wailing Fine ye ken this unhaly nicht tis filled wae all unGodly licht Craw tha Banshee frae tha Ben like howlet song throughoot tha Glen. Satan, Auld horney casts his lots for innocent bairnies fresh frae their cots An' ancient stories there arise an fly Like shooting stars that fill tha sky for here in tales tha croonies dae rattle in haunting airs and fiendish battle leagons arise tae tha masters calling This nicht hell awakens, aahhh tha heevens are falling. Here in blackened darkened skies whare lichtning flashes weaves an cries An mortal man fears fa his soul against that heelish burning coal Ministers intae their beds are fleeing wae ranting verses fa all their Dealing. Whare auld worn hags an witches cast upon tha waters that blaw an blast drooning mony tha ship an sailor all fa tha glory O their Demonic tailor when cauldrens stir in bubbling brews An damnation demands its richtful dues tha lan' it heaves and haws devouring all within its jaws A Blood red Moon casts her lot whare evil men have Died an fought tha Earth auld an worn frae tribulation demands the blood of every nation. Here within the fields o life brither against brither in war an strife hae released all this fiendish nightmare fa all their guilt,fa all they share Alisdaire O'Caoimph
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