Alex was king. We partied for hours
We were blood brothers, we were a clan
The air was blue with our saltires
Last night we re-opened the shipyards
We popped Champagne, we ended the truce
Last night, the future was ours
We were Robert the frigging Bruce
This morning we woke to a cold, grey dawn
We'd been stiffed by dough-faced Cameron
By Murdoch, by pin-striped businessmen
By bankers, by Edinburgh again
By Miliband the wee little clown
We burst the balloons – what a let down
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