I'll luve thee till Loch Doon runs drye
till myself is buried way neath the brae.
Till the castle Edinburg in rubble lye
and the sod of Aberdeen lines Yarman's waye.
The red red rose rose will dye in time
and the wee folk will tire and leave the glen.
But these dayes are short in comparison
for when these dayes have gone
I'll still luve thee then.