Oh how the red rain has made the harvest grow
The blood of Christian martyrs bore fruit to what they sowed
Never giving in to the breath and life they need
Their main priority being the things that they believed.
With chances to re-cant before being drowned or hung
They chose not to deny the song their heart had sung
As the rope burnt round their necks or drowned down at the Clyde
They lost their life on Earth, yet played in victory’s side.
They lived in holes and mountains as dark or cold may be
Guided by the light and things that they could see
Seeing beyond the natural and things they see by sight
Seeing things that are spiritual, at a time as dark as night.
Scottish rivers run red with the blood from gun shot wounds
Didn’t the Devil know more saints would be born soon ?
The more you bury a seed, the more that it can grow
The bigger the harvest gained, the more people God can know.