I saw a blue umbrella in Princes Street Garden |
| Heading out west for the Lothian Road |
| An evening news stuffed deep in the pocket |
| Little did I know that even a heavy load |
I found us walking Grierson's dockyards |
| Where the only thing working was foreign film crews |
| Making an impressive documentary |
| For the big news |
| To the satellite |
And all we're left with is the black black oil |
| With a sense of pride and identity |
| The waters left behind we shouldn't forget |
| Laid low in the books of history |
I saw the starlings wheel round Georgian spires |
| Gathering on patrol in the skies |
| In the distance burns the flame of Grangemouth |
| And the dream is lost |
| Everything what it could inspire |
| From the take you know there is no distance |
| How we talk about in the secret affairs |
| Taking our ride into the distance |
| To be what it was or could have been |
| What I should have said |
And all we're left with is the black black oil |
| With a strong sense of national pride |
| 'Till we take some more steps to unity |
| Take it back to me |
| Take it back |
| In a city run out of luck |
And all we're left with is the black, black oil |
| With a strong sense of national pride |
| Calling the ... for identity |
| What it meant to me, what I said |
| What we could have had |
I saw a blue umbrella in Princes Street Garden |
| Heading out west for the Lothian Road |
| An evening news stuck deep in the pocket |
| Little did I know that he'd fall |
| Carrying a heavy load |
And all we're left with is the black black oil |
| With a strong sense of national pride |
| Calling a name in the sake of unity |
| What it means to me you'll never know |
| You'll never know |
I see myself forced in servant exile |
| Turning around at another's command |
| All I want to see is identity |
| What I could have been |
| What I did |
| Could have been |
Internal exile |
| Internal exile |