A little king looked on his kingdom That no mortal eye could ever see, And to be one of these little folk, Was indeed a blessing, said he. Bold Wallace lies neath weeping skies That cry on a land not free, And many more beside him will lie Who Scotland liberated wont see.
The Little Folk unlike mankind Knew no wars and done no wrong, Lived in bliss, a life of music, A life of laughter, lust and song. The cruel hand of England Even when she lets a land go, She keeps a hand upon its tiller So that shes the master, they know.
They were here long before the Big Folk Aye, were here thousands of years... In a realm of peace and of magic, Where only falls brought to the eye tears... And England, who their freedom stole Makes sure from her colonies freedom she gains, The flags and the army may be gone, But the Saxons power remains.
On the arrival of the Big Folk, The little folk fled underground, And that is why to this day In open fields they wont be found. For a land is but free when England says: At her decree your a free man, And she will return and crush you again, If you against her plan.
The little king looked on his kingdom Where to be hidden was to be free He knew Big Folk believed his world did not exist, "Long may they so think!" said he! And a weeping sky for Scotland will cry For to come many many years, Even in freedom she'll be bear the Saxon yoke, Drawing from brave Scotland more tears!