What a bloody shame: lost and gone, the quietness of the rolling Scray
Having lost my home, no more to fish and swim in the Soolscray
Gone are the hills and the misty valleys; the pipeline's coming through
Gone are the streams where the salmon leaps; the pipeline's coming through
A city born, spreading over all; watch it take its hold
Like a barren tree, just a silhouette of black upon gold
Gone are the hills and the misty valleys; the pipeline's coming through
Gone are the streams where the salmon leaps; the pipeline's coming through
It's a bloody shame: eight thousand years of nature's mysterious ways
All torn apart and in her place the starkness of an industrial waste
Gone are the hills and the misty valleys; the pipeline's coming through
Gone are the streams where the salmon leaps; the pipeline's coming through
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