Oldies Not Goldies
Down in bonny Scotland´s deepest dungeon, where boredom says
goodnight to desperation, some poor and fearridden things feel
their end is coming near.
The shadow of a spider shivers down to the bottom of the vault,
where it is swallowed by the shadow of a fly-swat.
A grin appears on the greasy cook´s face as he takes an expert´s look
at the rests of the spider.
After scratching it off the wall he carefully places the spider inside
his bucket to join some other helpless, time-honoured ingredients
awaiting their gruesome fate.
Entering the kitchen he realizes some horrible mist that crawls
through the room, thick and stinking.
So he takes a short and cautious look into the kettle - well, he doesn't have to eat it.
The strange smell of that obscure scottish food,
carefully prepared with the help of an ancient secret recipe
which better would have been forgotten,
reaches the high aristocratic nose of Sir Archibald,
the Lord of the castle, a man of tradition, spirit and,
until very lately, appetite.
His father had been a hero, his grandfather had been a hero
and every simple one of his forefathers too,
even more with every time their stories have been told.
And as the cook slowly but ininsistible takes the stony steps
up to the dining room, Sir Archibald feels obliged to prove
once again his dignity to that long line of heroic ancestors.
Scots have to be heroes all the time.
Try to eat something scottish and you can taste the reason why.
"Scots" wurde 1983 nach 2 Schottland-Urlauben und den damit verbundenen kulinarischen Vorfällen geschrieben. Ich nahm es zu Hause im Keller mit echten Drums auf; ich konnte früher mal ein bißchen Schlagzeug spielen. Es war aber kein Stück für Auftritte.