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Catherine liked high places
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High up on the hills
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A place for making noises
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Noises like the Whales
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Here she built a chapel with
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Her image on the wall
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A place where she could rest and
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A place where she could wash
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and listen to the wind blow
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She dreamt of children's voices
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And torture on the wheel
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Patron-Saint of nothing
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A woman of the hills
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She once was a lady
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Of pleasure, and high-born
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A lady of the city
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But now she sits and moans
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and listens to the wind blow
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I see her in her chapel
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High up on a hill
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She must be so lonely
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Oh Mother, can't we give
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A husband to our Catherine?
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A handsome one, a dear
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A rich one for the lady
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Someone to listen with
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The Wind
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| PJ Harvey |
