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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
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