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letra de men of the north - scythian

born from the mist of the cliffs and the sea
hard as the stones that rise up in the lee
free as the gulls that nest in the crags
are the men of the fish of old [?]

in the towns that lie ‘tween the hills and the foam
with the wind as their mother and the sea as their home
the boys are nursed on tales of the sk!ll
of the men of the fish of old [?]

with harpoons as rifles and faces as flint
waging war on the ocean for the treasures within
for wife and young to be sound and well-fed
aye the men of the fish of old [?]

crooked hands set toward the mending of sail
and the lines of their face tell of harrowing tale
of ones who sleep little and know no fatigue
such the men of the fish of old [?]

wind and sea and salt and foam
tired hands will take me home
falling tides and rising seas
carry me on winds to thee
aching heart and worried hands
as you wait upon the land
light to me that tower bright
anchor in the night
no graveyard to rest for those who are lost
and the wife looks to sea, ever counting the cost
know the mettle of work and the oar and it’s worth
such the lot of the hard mended men of the north

- scythian

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