Exile On Princes Street

I saw a blue umbrella in Princes Street GardenHeading out west for the Lothian RoadAn evening news stuffed deep in the pocketLittle did I know that he had a heavy loadI found I was walking Grierson's dockyardsWhere the only thing working was the foreign film crewsMaking an impressive documentaryFor the news, for the newsTo the satelliteAnd all we're left with is the black, black oilWith a sense of pride and identityThe waters left behind we shouldn't forgetLaid low in the books of historyI saw the starlings wheel round Georgian spiresThey're gathering on patrol in the skiesIn the distance burns the flam eof GrangemouthAnd the dream is lostEverythingWhat it could inspireWhen we take, you know there is no distanceHow we're talked about in the secret affairsTaking our ride into the distanceTo be what it was or could have beenWhat I should have saidAnd all we're left with is the black, black oilWith a strong sense of national pride'Till we take some more steps to unityTake it back to meTake away(?)And all we're left with is the black, black oilWith a strong sense of national prideCalling the (ministry?) for identityWhat it meant to me, what it saidWhat we could have hadI saw a blue umbrella in Princes Street GardenHeading out west for the Lothian RoadAn evening news stuck deep in the pocketLittle did I know that he'd fallCarrying a heavy loadAnd all we're left with is the black, black oilWith a strong sense of national prideCalling a name in the sake of unityWhat it meant to me you'll never knowYou'll never knowI see myself forced in servant exileTurning around at another's commandAll I want to see is identityWhat I could have beenWhat I didCould have beenInternal exileInternal exile