Raised above the cello ding ding ding Reaching out to say hello song song song Stepping in the ring gong gong gong Well that’s just all wrong ping ping ping Pauper’s know not his king pong pong pong The cloth was not cut swing swing swing
His name was James Skene
He came from Aberdeen
Sent down to Edinburgh to die,
The brother of the Laird
Land and power shared
Everything that Scotland could supply.
But inward treasure captured mind and heart
The noose won't drag him and God apart,
So death where is your sting
When the edict of the King
Is naming God as a royal crime,
And the Covenanter's tone
Is God sits on the throne
Welcome to the "Killing Times".
The Privy Council told Skene to back down
But He loved and served a different Man's crown,
The sentence of the boss
Was death at Market cross
So that all the people then could see,
The covenant they made
Was a useless aid
If they thought that it would set them free,
He felt his life was not dear to him
Here are the final words of James Skene
"I lay down my life
For owning Jesus Christ"
He said as he looked up to the sky,
On a cold December Day
The wind and rope then played
Swinging to the tune of Martyr's cry,
Confirming what the world already knows
The blood of Martyr's make the harvest grow.
A skene of miracles drifting downstream
through golden-eyed kings
into the gritty mouth of hungry.
Breaking away one by one
unrecognized in the coral of living.
Suffocated by the silt of greed
refreshed by the heart of the giving.
Constellation of miracles burning bright
through time and damnation of dream
in the face of spirits twisted blind.
Floating ashtray
into black holes of decay.
on the edge the fishermen cast
into what was pure,
now turned into trash...
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