Swear you'll stay alive tonightI know what happens in your headI know it's getting hard to fightSwear you won't put out your lightI know what all your voices saidSwear to me you'll hold on tightSwear you'll kill the darkness you fedI know you'll swear to live instead
Heads up, shoulders back.The confidence that we all lackIs trapped inside the mirror.Ballerina, twirl en Pointe,The clapping sound grows nearer.Insecurity sets in,Self-assurance is a sinAccording to society.No matter what I say or doThe pressure gets the best of me.
She sits in the gardenBlooming and burstingUnder a flowered arborWeeping over a single wilted roseHe sits in a room of whitePure and perfectEmpty eyes staring close-rangeAt a lonely black smudgeWe look at our livesAt the portion we've livedAnd ignore the coming joyOnly able to see the sorrowIf we lift our eyesThere's reason to smileIf we back away from the wall aheadWe see how to walk around it
March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale,Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order!March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale,All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border.Many a banner spread,Flutters above your head,Many a crest that is famous in story.Mount and make ready then,Sons of the mountain glen,Fight for the Queen and our old Scottish glory.Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing,Come from the glen of the buck and the roe;Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing,Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow.
Youth of delight! come hitherAnd see the opening morn,Image of Truth new-born.Doubt is fled, and clouds of reason,Dark disputes and artful teazing.Folly is an endless maze;Tangled roots perplex her ways;How many have fallen there!They stumble all night over bones of the dead;And feel--they know not what but care;And wish to lead others, when they should be led.
Ah, little road all whirry in the breeze,A leaping clay hill lost among the trees,The bleeding note of rapture streaming thrushCaught in a drowsy hushAnd stretched out in a single singing line of dusky song.Ah little road, brown as my race is brown,Your trodden beauty like our trodden pride,Dust of the dust, they must not bruise you down.Rise to one brimming golden, spilling cry!