| The wind upon my face and the scent of the sea, | |
| Oh these are the memories I carry with me, | |
| The mist rolling in and silver clouds above, | |
| Oh these are the reveries of all that I love. | |
| The smell of turf in winter, my mother's smiling face, | |
| So easily remembered, so easily placed, | |
| The sunrise through the trees at the dawning of the day, | |
| Would cradle me within its arms and carry me away. | |
| The Atlantic Storm is raging, | |
| Calling me back home to the land of my birthplace where I'm never alone. | |
| I hear it rumble in the distance, the home of my heart | |
| Oh Atlantic Storm how I wish we never had to part. | |
| I hear my father calling through waves upon the sands, | |
| We walk on by the houses and down along the strand, | |
| I see familiar faces, my comrades, my friends, | |
| How I've missed their warmth and tenderness which I'll never leave again. | |
| The Atlantic Storm is raging | |
| Calling me back home to the land of my birthplace where I'm never alone. | |
| I hear it rumble in the distance, the home of my heart | |
| Oh Atlantic Storm how I wish we never had to part. |
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