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I wandered far onto the lonely moors |
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Sparse coarse tufts of grass reached out to trip me |
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And above my head the leaden clouds hung low |
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As I turned my face into the wind |
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I huddled close against a tumbling wall |
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Wrapped in a cloak to shield me from the bitter cold |
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The solitude weighed heavy on my mind |
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As I turned my face into the wind |
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The mist rolled down across the countryside |
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I thought I heard the coastal sirens sound |
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As I turned my face into the wind |
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I tried to peer into the deepening gloom |
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To glimpse a lighted window in the distance |
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But just too far to penetrate the rain |
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And I turned my face into the wind |
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And yet somehow I sensed her presence near |
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And tufts of sheeps-wool hanging from a gorse bush |
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Were as though her hands were beckoning me home |
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And I turned my face into the wind |
