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Dubh is dorcha;
loidhne gheal a' dol tron adhar
a' tighinn bho na sgòthan,
peilear de thàirneanach.
Tha an dealan a' tuiteam sìos,
loidhne luath, thana, gheal,
a' gearradh tro dhorchadas na h-oichdhe.
Bhuail i san aer-ghath,
sìos luath tron taigh,
tro na càballan TBh:
an TBh a' spreadhadh,
teine tron taigh;
an teine ag èirigh
chun a' mhullaich.
Dealan, tha e fiadhaich.
Dealan tro m' fhuil.
Dealan na mo chridhe.
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Black and dark;
a white flash spreads through the sky
coming from the clouds,
gunshot of thunder.
The electricity falls to the ground
a thin, white, fast line
cutting through the darkness of the night.
It struck the aerial,
down rapidly through the house,
through the television cables:
the televison exploding,
fire raging through the house;
the fire rising
up to the roof.
Electricity, it’s ferocious.
Electricity in my blood.
Electricity in my heart.
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