The wind blows keen across the ridge
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Black against a charcoal grey
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We climb up here by the winding path made so long ago
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In the valley below the last few lights
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glow just like the embers of a fire
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We begin to remember, we begin to remember
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We came by the sea and we took the land
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We spread out across the plains
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And on and on to the mountains
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Until there was nothing left to conquer
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The sound of chopping trees echoed through the woods
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We built the ships and the houses
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and the bridges and the fortifications
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Until there was nothing left to build with
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Now in the silver grey dome of the sky
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The birds fly home for winter
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And we all come down to the shore and stare across the waves
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We¡¯ve got to get off the island
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We carved monuments to the angry gods
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We hauled stone across the deserts of our own making
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From the standing stones to the villages
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To the shining palaces looking out over the water
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The soil is growing thin, the yield running low
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There¡¯s too many of us here, too many of us here
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And now ragged ribbons of rain sweep in
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As the birds fly home for winter
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And we all come down to the shore and stare across the waves
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We¡¯ve got to get off the island
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Island
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New Model Army |