Well, you tak the front room,

And I'll tak the back ane,

But neither o the twa o us'll be snorin,'

There's nae sleep the nicht,

For the sky is orange bricht-

Aye, they're flairin aff aine mair at Mossmorran.

I woke up bruised and sair,

For I'd faain on the flair,

Cowped oot ma bed withoot any warning,

As the vibrations dirled,

Downward I was hurled,

For they're flairin' aff aince mair at Mossmorran.

We're shooglin and we're shakin,

As the windae pains are brekkin,

And cracks appear without any warning,

As Armageddon unlooses,

They say it's safe as hooses,

They're just burning off a puckle hydrocarbons.

The watchman at the plant,

Says they're sorry but they can't,

Turn it doun for there's nae ither solution,

And so hae tae thole,

Oor clarty, iley hole,

And be scunnered by our deavesome pollution.

So you tak the ear plugs,

And I'll rub ma sair lugs,

As the reek skails out the lum o Mossmorran,

I breathe the thrummlin air,

And I wish I wisnae there,

Aye, I wish a grey hard exit upon Exxon.

WILLIE HERSHAW,

Lochgelly.