[Verse 1] (Female) Near Dunsinane the heather's bent with marching feet, Menteith reads the file, the names of those who'll meet, (Male) Caithness, Angus, Lennox, falling into one long line, the English force already camped, we're closing on their time. (Female) Malcolm's near Birnam Wood, young Siward holds the flank, (Male) Macduff walks like a blade sharpened on a private rank, (Female) we're not bound for England — England's come to Scotland's door, we march to join the healing, not to start another war. [Chorus] (Both) This is the weal — the people, not the throne, Scotland's a sick body, shivering alone, Malcolm is the med'cine, bitter, but it's real, we march to cure the fever, not to steal the wheel. [Verse 2] (Male) Behind those walls at Dunsinane he's stacking stone on stone, some call it a fortress, some just call it a throne, (Female) he cannot buckle his distemper'd cause within the belt of rule, a king who's lost his tailor, dressing panic up as cool. (Male) His soldiers move on orders, not a flicker of love or pride, (Female) they strap their courage on like armor, fear is strapped inside, (Male) some whisper that he's raving, pacing rooms at dead of night, (Female) mad kings still give commands — that doesn't make them right. [Chorus] (Both) This is the weal — the people, not the throne, Scotland's a sick body, shivering alone, Malcolm is the med'cine, bitter, but it's real, we march to cure the fever, not to steal the wheel. [Verse 3] (Male — Angus) "Now does he feel his secret murders sticking on his hands," every guilty fingerprint refusing camouflage, "now does he feel his title hang loose about him, like a giant's robe upon a dwarfish thief" — borrowed grandeur, swallowing the man beneath. [Bridge] (Female — Lennox) "To dew the sovereign flower, and drown the weeds," water for the rightful bloom, a flood for wild seeds, (Both) we pour ourselves like rain to cleanse the poisoned field, every drop we give's a pledge, a vow, a shield. [Chorus] (Both) This is the weal — the people, not the throne, Scotland's a sick body, shivering alone, Malcolm is the med'cine, bitter, but it's real, we march to cure the fever, not to steal the wheel. [Verse 4] (Female) When dawn breaks over Dunsinane, the banners drop like leaves, (Male) the throne's an empty vessel, no more the tyrant weaves, (Female) Scotland breathes again, the fever starting to recede, (Both) we plant the seeds of mercy where only fear could breed, (Male) the castle gates swing open to a quieter kind of light, (Female) and those who marched for healing finally rest tonight. [Outro] (Both, softer) Weal means the common good — remember what it's worth, med'cine means the healer coming home to Scottish earth, distemper'd means a sickness that no belt can contain, the file's just names and numbers — but the march is not in vain.
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