You’ll find me sitting at this table with my friend Fin and my friend John
 My friend Murdaney tells us stories of things long gone, long gone
 And we may take a glass together, the whisky makes it all so clear
 It fires our dulled imaginations
 And I feel so near, so near
 
 I feel so near to the howling of the wind
 Feel so near to the crashing of the waves
 Feel so near to the flowers in the field
 Feel so near
 
 The old man looks out to the island he says this place is endless thin
 There’s no real distance here to mention we might all fall in, all fall in
 No distance to the spirits of the living, no distance to the spirits of the dead
 And as he turned his eyes were shining 
 And he proudly said, proudly said
 
 So we build our tower constructions there to mark our place in time
 We justify our great destructions as on we climb, on we climb
 Now the journey doesn’t seem to matter, the destination’s faded out
 And gathering out along the headland
 I hear the children shout, children shout