A fine young man with a bent to roam
To the western cliff where the seas run high,
Searching for the travellers stone.
On the western cliff where the seas run high,
I found the stone of a thousand souls,
By the rocks where the travellers carved their names
Where the seagulls cry by the Pattering Holes.
The stone was as black as a gipsy's eye,
And carved with the staves of an ancient tongue
As I held it tight, from the western wind
Came the timeless words of a timeless song.
TAKE THE STONE MY MOTHER MADE
ON A SILKEN THREAD LET IT SWING FREE
TO GUIDE YOU ALONG THE LINES OF FORCE
FROM THE WESTERN CLIFF TO THE EASTERN SEA
TAKE TO THE LAND AND FOLLOW THE LEY............
