There's a fair-haired laddie goes
Through the market begging succour
With a pair of greylag wings
Etched into a saucer

He reminds me of my own boy
Lost in Flodden's claw
From the bowing legs to the mole
Which sits atop his nose

Daybreak finds me in my pots
Coaxing out the hidden flavour
Of the perch I lifted clear
From the evening river

I mend the collar and the cuffs
Of an empty woollen coat
In the pocket place a mitten
From a piebald ferret sown

Half a bar of tallow soap
Gains me entry to the courtyard
Where accused men ply their trade
Or waste away the day

Hungrily I scan the faces
Only to be found
By the tired eyes of an old man
Stricken on the ground
"Have you seen a fair-haired lad
With a mole atop his nose?"
"Aye, if I am not mistook
The very same went free this morning"

How my heart goes leaping
Like a hare at cloudburst
Upon the revelation
To rock he is returning

Hold my hand and sit you up
Drink a good long draught from my cup
Dip a clump of pandemain
And wrap this coat around your shoulder

Take this jar of pickled herring
They'll hear your belly groan
And light this faggot when you arise
To thaw your icy bones

It's not the seven corporal acts
Or the fear of purgatory
Which behest me to maintain
A generous refrain

I know that if my boy were in trouble
And I were far away
I'd wish there was somebody there
To help him
To sing to this song is ever so hard
I wish that I could sing it better
Now we've nearly reached the end
We can start to listen again