| Sometimes when you journey
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| Through the pages of a book
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| You’re taken places beyond words
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| You let them speak the truth
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| Today I’ve opened treasures
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| That my eyes could scarce believe
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| They’re the words of confirmation
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| Everything that makes me sing
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| Summer comes to Sutherland
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| And you bend the hazel bow
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| You harness up the ponies
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| And you head out on the road
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| By Kilbreck and Altnaharra
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| You journey to your rest
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| With the guiding might of Suliven
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| For the campsites of the West
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| And it’s up by the Shin
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| And up by the 'Naver
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| And the long winding shores
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| Of Loch Maree
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| By Ben Hope and Ben Loyal
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| By Stack and by Arkle
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| The road reaches long
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| Now the summer is here
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| Now your words are not of sentiment
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| Shallow or untrue
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| But wells of living water
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| And from their clear deep sides we drew
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| The songs, the tin, the horses
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| This country’s great and ancient wilds
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| Your faith in God and man and nature
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| And the keenness of your guile
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| So have you stood out on Coldbackie
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| At the time the sun goes down
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| Or up on the king of campsites
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| In the hills about Brae Tongue
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| That’s when music filled your evenings
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| It’s all so different now, this world
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| For you were the summer walkers
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| And the fishers of the pearl
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| So as we close another chapter
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| That we label Archive Gold
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| Still the Conon flows each morning
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| And the dew falls from the sloe
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| But today you took me walking
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| Through a land that we have lost
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| While our children sit at websites
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| With no access to the cost |