on the train to Cambuslang

Their hooves trample the frosty grass
A deep fog has set in
The trees rustle and crack
A frigid cold has settled o'er the land.

The lone voice of a shepherd
sings a melancholy tune.
Scotland's rolling hills are trapped in a fog.

My heart is heavy and I don't know hy
I am so busy, I must find time.
But I am torn between terror and action.

The thaw will melt,
The train will keep moving.
My soul will find rest in the arms of my maker.