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I was born in the heather
In my sweet northern land
With a song in my ears
And a lute in my hand
And I've traveled the plains
Collecting the sounds
And the stories of friends
That I sing about now
And they call me the last of the bards
When I open my lungs
And I spill out my heart
They call me the last of the bards
When I sing my old fashioned songs
And I tried not to cry
When I left my sweet home
Where the old pipes were playing
My favourite song
And I still hear it now
On the cold northern wind
And I sing it aloud
For the people I miss
And they call me the last of the bards
When I open my lungs
And I spill out my heart
They call me the last of the bards
When I sing my old fashioned songs
I was born in the heather
In my sweet northern land
With a song in my ears
And a lute in my hand
And I've traveled the plains
Collecting the sounds
And the stories of friends
That I sing about now
And they call me the last of the bards
When I open my lungs
And I spill out my heart
They call me the last of the bards
When I sing my old fashioned songs
La la la, la la la
