We shook the last drops from Glen Garioch's finest hour
We sipped it like the blood of Burns
Through the mountain thyme
Belting "Auld Lang Syne"
This is how I'll free myself
I'll free myself

You'll come to Wellfleet where the sun, through fairy pines
Shines soft and gold as chardonnay
And then we'll retire
Sitting by the fire
This is how I'll free myself
I'll free myself

This vodka comes from rain descending from a single cloud
These cherries ripened in the groves of the Hesperides
Where heroes lie

I rolled my pant legs up for darting fish in tadpole ponds
I picked the berries in the field
Light pools in my glass
Shines into the past
This is how I'll—
This is how I'll—
How I'll
Free myself