The Wind

Catherine liked high places

High up on the hills

A place for making noises

Noises like the whalesHere 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 blowShe dreamt of children's voices

And torture on the wheel

Patron-saint of nothing

A woman of the hillsShe 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 blowI 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