To Edinburgh
Call me out of my brickwork and take me
to the quiet fields of your night. Armour my limbs,
helmet me, batter my drums with your tartan pipes.
Fire your proud arrows like hail storms,
bring out your castle and your cannons for war.
Your familiar wind falls -
a crag, your molten skyline is reborn.
Spit your heart of Midlothian for me:
tell your gothic spires that I am coming,
your high-streets that they are mine,
tell your gardens that I do not know mercy
and that I cannot return without them.
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