This deserted place, tied to one spot
That Scotland’s presence will never live
In my eyes, or my touch
Here, no northern lights alter the skies
No wandering mermaids grace these waters
No snowy mountains touch the stars I see
Fresh sea breeze doesn’t blow here
My mind does wander,
Up high above sparkling city lights.
Alone in the love of Paris,
A dream of wishful imaginations.
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