|
|
 |
|
The Wind |
 Printer Friendly Version
|
Catherine liked high places
High up on the hills
A place for making noises
Noises like the whales
Here she built a chapel with
Her image on the wall
A place where she could rest and
A place where she could wash
And listen to the wind blow
She dreamt of children's voices
And torture on the wheel
Patron-saint of nothing
A woman of the hills
She once was a lady
Of pleasure, and high-born
A lady of the city
But now she sits and moans
And listens to the wind blow
I see her in her chapel
High up on a hill
She must be so lonely
Oh mother, can't we give
A husband to our catherine?
A handsome one, a dear
A rich one for the lady
Someone to listen with
|
|
|
|
|
| (c) 2006-2008, Realook |
|
