You’ll find me sitting at this table with my friend Fin and my friend John

My friend Murdaney tells us stories of things long gone, long gone

And we may take a glass together, the whisky makes it all so clear

It fires our dulled imaginations

And I feel so near, so near

I feel so near to the howling of the wind

Feel so near to the crashing of the waves

Feel so near to the flowers in the field

Feel so near

The old man looks out to the island he says this place is endless thin

There’s no real distance here to mention we might all fall in, all fall in

No distance to the spirits of the living, no distance to the spirits of the dead

And as he turned his eyes were shining

And he proudly said, proudly said

I feel so near to the howling of the wind

Feel so near to the crashing of the waves

Feel so near to the flowers in the field

Feel so near

So we build our tower constructions there to mark our place in time

We justify our great destructions as on we climb, on we climb

Now the journey doesn’t seem to matter, the destination’s faded out

And gathering out along the headland

I hear the children shout, children shout

I feel so near to the howling of the wind

Feel so near to the crashing of the waves

Feel so near to the flowers in the field

Feel so near

I feel so near to the howling of the wind

Feel so near to the crashing of the waves

Feel so near to the flowers in the field

I feel so near to the howling of the wind

Feel so near to the crashing of the waves

Feel so near to the flowers in the field

Feel so near