What a bloody shame: lost and gone, the quietness of the rolling Scray Having lost my home, no more to fish and swim in the Soolscray Gone are the hills and the misty valleys; the pipeline's coming through Gone are the streams where the salmon leaps; the pipeline's coming through A city born, spreading over all; watch it take its hold Like a barren tree, just a silhouette of black upon gold Gone are the hills and the misty valleys; the pipeline's coming through Gone are the streams where the salmon leaps; the pipeline's coming through It's a bloody shame: eight thousand years of nature's mysterious ways All torn apart and in her place the starkness of an industrial waste Gone are the hills and the misty valleys; the pipeline's coming through Gone are the streams where the salmon leaps; the pipeline's coming through