As I sit here alone, in the cool evening shade. And look down on the glen where McCrimmon once played. Like the cool crystal water, of yon mountain stream. I hear the sweet melody, played in my dream....
Through the woodland, onto the shieling. Once again I hear this refrain. Through the forest, quietly steeling, Ever enchanting I hear it again.
Lilting pipes are echoing eerliy, Over valley, mountain and ben. Piobaireachd sounding, restlessly, wearily. Piper McCrimmon is haunting the glen.
Now I hear McCrimmon's farewell, the golden sun sinks low in the west. Still the woodland's under his spell McCrimmon the piper has come home to rest.
Chorus:
Lilting pipes.... Piper McCrimmon is haunting the glen. Piper McCrimmon is haunting the glen.