i was born in the heather in my sweet northern land with a song in my ears and a lute in my hand and ive traveled the plains collecting the sounds and the stories of friends that i sing about now and they call me the last of the bards when i open my lungs and i spill out my heart they call me the last of the bards when i sing my old fashioned songs and i tried not to cry when i left my sweet home where the old pipes were playing my favourite song and i still hear it now on the cold northern wind and i sing it aloud for the people i miss and they call me the last of the bards when i open my lungs and i spill out my heart they call me the last of the bards when i sing my old fashioned songs i was born in the heather in my sweet northern land with a song in my ears and a lute in my hand and ive traveled the plains collecting the sounds and the stories of friends that i sing about now and they call me the last of the bards when i open my lungs and i spill out my heart they call me the last of the bards when i sing my old fashioned songs