My father said
It's the North wind
That broke the dijks

At Scheveningen,
At Scheveningen, my boy,
A wind so strong

We've long lost sight
Of those at sea
Beyond the dijks

And it's the North wind
That tears through the eyes
Of our Northern youth

And our old and wise
And calls the blue
Carillon cries

Home from a North
That's deep in their eyes.


My father said:
It's the North wind
That stirs the sand

Around the town of Bruges,
Around Bruges, my boy.
It's the North wind

That planed the land
Around the towers,
The towers of Bruges,

That gives our girls
That old calm face
Like ancient towns

Locked into space,
Gives their brown hair
The fragile grace

Of Flemish lace,
Of Flemish lace.


My father said:
It's the North wind,
The wind that broke

The earth at Zeebrugge,
At Zeebrugge, my boy,
And by that wind

The earth was rent
Between Zeebrugge
And the cliffs of Kent

And London's left
Cut loose and free
With the Bruges headland

Taunting the sea
And London's left
To forever be

A suburb of Bruges
Lost in the sea.


My father said:
It's the North wind
That'll bear to earth

My soulless body,
My passionless body, my boy.
It's the North wind

That'll bear to earth
My soulless body
Across the grey North Sea,

That'll make me captain
Of a ship that sails
On a breeze of tears

Or a school of whales.
I'll captain the breeze
That blows high above,

That breeze of tears
For those I love.