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The Pict Song - text

Rome never looks where she treads
Always her heavy hooves fall
Our bellies, our hearts and our heads
Rome never heeds when we scrawl

Her sentries pass by and that's all
We gather behind them in hordes
And plot to reconquer the Wall
With only our tongues as our swords

We are the Little Folk we
Too little to love or to hate
But leave us alone and you'll see
How fast we can drag down the State

We are the worm in the wood
We are the rot at the root
And we are the taint in the blood
We are the thorn in the foot

A mistletoe killing an oak
Rats gnawing cables in two
Moths eating holes in a cloak
How they must love what they do

Yes and we Little Folk too
We are as busy as they
Working our works out of view
Watch and you'll see it some day

We are the Little Folk, we
Too little to love or to hate
But leave us alone and you'll see
How fast we can drag down the State

We are the worm in the wood
We are the rot at the root
And we are the taint in the blood
We are the thorn in the foot

But though maybe we are not strong
Yet we know peoples who are
And we'll guide them along
To smash and destroy you in War

We shall be slaves just the same
when have we never been slaves
You, you will die on the shame
And then we will dance on your graves

We are the Little Folk we
Too little to love or to hate
But leave us alone and you'll see
How fast we can drag down the State

We are the worm in the wood
We are the rot at the root
And we are the taint in the blood
We are the thorn in the foot

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