The Blue Kyle of Tongue

Oh that I were on the heights of Ben Loyal,
The blue Kyle of Tongue sweeping down to the sea,
Far, far away from this heartache and toil
With only the wind singing wild songs to me.

Down cold city streets through the night lights I wander,
Rain falling grey like a shroud over me;
Cars rushing by turn my thoughts to the thunder
Of surf on the shores of a far distant sea.

Often I've dreamed of the Sutherland mountains,
The dew on the heather, the deer on the hill,
Dreams of myself and my true love together;
The dreams oft return - ah, but I never will.

Oh long are the years and the miles I must travel,
Many the songs that must wait to be sung,
Many the troubles that I must unravel
Ere we may meet by the Blue Kyle of Tongue

To walk once again on the heights of Ben Loyal,
The blue Kyle of Tongue sweeping down to the sea,
Far, far away from this heartache and toil,
The wind singing wild songs to you and to me.