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
and listen to the wind blow
and listen to the wind blow
She dreamt of childrens 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
and listens to the wind blow
I see her in her chapel
High up on a hill
She must be so lonely
Oh Mother, cant we give
A husband to our Catherine?
A handsome one, a dear
A rich one for the lady
Someone to listen with
and listen to the wind blow
and listen to the wind blow
and listen to the wind blow
and listen to the wind blow