There’s a lonely stretch of hillocks;
There’s a beach asleep and drear;
There’s a battered broken fort beside the sea.
There are sunken, trampled graves;
And a little rotting pier:
And winding paths that wind unceasingly.
There’s a torn and silent valley:
There’s a tiny rivulet
With some blood upon the stones beside its mouth
There are lines of buried bones:
There’s an unpaid waiting debt:
There’s the sound of gentle sobbing in the south.
There’s a beach asleep and drear;
There’s a battered broken fort beside the sea.
There are sunken, trampled graves;
And a little rotting pier:
And winding paths that wind unceasingly.
There’s a torn and silent valley:
There’s a tiny rivulet
With some blood upon the stones beside its mouth
There are lines of buried bones:
There’s an unpaid waiting debt:
There’s the sound of gentle sobbing in the south.
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