I now describe my country,
As if to strangers,
This train is full of songs,
Of local winners,
And the wind surrounds the towers,
And the flags they are blowing,
And the bunting and the distance,
Stretches over our sound.
And when he teases the children,
He calls them orphans,
And he cries for all the flowers,
Of the forest,
In his head there is no reason,
To be sad about the garden,
But his heart bleeds very often,
For things forgotten like little orphans.
Words - Ricky Ross, Music - Ewan Vernal