Standing on grey cliffs against the howl of summer wind,
white waves crashing through the mist,
Rain softly descending,
The North Sea reached out,
stretching to the end of time,
Then I smelled the smoke of peat on fire,
The warmth of a distant home called to me,
I thought of the colors of Scotland,
the taste of the warm barley.
I walked over the hills,
And across the moors,
Till we met by night’s fire,
Where peace spread forth,
Like the warm wool,
Spun by stout hearted people,
Spun by brave men, born of the North Sea.
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