I was born in the heather In my sweet northern land With a song in my ears And a lute in my hand And I've traveled the plains Collecting the sounds And the stories of friends That I sing about now And they call me the last of the bards When I open my lungs And I spill out my heart They call me the last of the bards When I sing my old fashioned songs And I tried not to cry When I left my sweet home Where the old pipes were playing My favourite song And I still hear it now On the cold northern wind And I sing it aloud For the people I miss And they call me the last of the bards When I open my lungs And I spill out my heart They call me the last of the bards When I sing my old fashioned songs I was born in the heather In my sweet northern land With a song in my ears And a lute in my hand And I've traveled the plains Collecting the sounds And the stories of friends That I sing about now And they call me the last of the bards When I open my lungs And I spill out my heart They call me the last of the bards When I sing my old fashioned songs La la la, la la la