The heather will fade, and the bracken will die,
Streams will run cold and clear,
Ah the small birds they will be going,
For it's then that you'll be knowing,
That the terror time is here
The woods give no shelter, ah the trees they are bare
Snows lying all around,
Oh the young children are crying,
For the bed on which they're lying,
Is frozen to the ground
And when you need the warmth of your own human kind,
You move near a town and then,
Oh the sight of you is offending,
The police they soon are sending,
And you're on the road again
Whaur will ye gang, aye and whit will ye dae?
Noo that the work's all done,
And the fairmer doesnae need ye,
And the Cooncil willnae feed ye,
And you're on the road again
The heather will fade, and the bracken will die,
The streams will run cold and clear,
Anye the small birds they will be going,
For it's then that you'll be knowing,
That the terror time is here