An Torr

Out from the cold
Welcomed into our home
We saw that they were fed
But soon we would be dead

Cold, the wind in the pine
Cast out with nowhere to go
The heart of the earth's turned stone
There's blood in the River Coe

Put all to the sword

Out from the night
We offered our homestead
Some fled through the snow
While some, cut down in their beds

"Cruеl is the snow that sweeps Glencoe
And covеrs the grave O' Donald
Cruel was the foe that raped Glencoe
And murdered the house O' MacDonald"