AtLast_[07]

>> Uisce Beatha << (Water of Life)

My whiskey smells of sherry. Yours wafts the burning peat. But either slugged in unwise measure Does wonders to the feet. Brother of the highland Don't grudge his grumbling choke. My whiskey licks in sweetened sips. Yours bites with bitter smoke. But, either way the glass is raised. It's time we both awoke. While we toss, the sucking gnats Get dizzy at our throats. The more I down, the less I feel. Who gives a damn which way you kneel? I think there's spirit in the truth It slides so smoothly on the tooth. For, if we flag in our despair, Whose flag Will we endear? Let your Scotty chase his rag. Don't let your brawny soul dishearten. Repair your dagger to the sock, We bear the self same yoke Give a pull for this old man

For I will kirk your tartan. Brother of the highland Father of the soil Take my hand I'll help you stand And stagger through this toil.