Written by Richard Thompson. Translated by Iona Fyfe

Wis there iver a winter sae caul an sae sad
The river ower weary tae flood
The storm an the win cut throw tae ma skin
Bit she cut throw tae ma blood

I wis luikin fur trouble tae tangle ma line
Bit trouble cam luikin fur me
I kaint I wis stannin on treacherous grun
I wis sinkin ower faist tae rin free

Wi her scheemin, idle weys
She left me puir enough
The storm an the win cut throw tae ma skin
Bit she cut throw tae ma blood

I widna be askin, I widna be seen
A-beggin on mountain or hill
Bit am ready an blin wi ma hauns tied ahin
A’ve neither a mind nor a will

Wi her scheemin, idle weys
She left me puir enough
The storm an the win cut throw tae ma skin
Bit she cut throw tae ma blood

It’s bitter the need o the puir ditchin boy
He’ll ayewis believe whit they say
They tell him its hard tae be honest an true
Dis he mind if he disna get peyed?

Wi her scheemin, idle weys
She left me puir enough
The storm an the win cut throw tae ma skin
Bit she cut throw tae ma blood