A wind's in the heart of me, a fire's in my heels
I am tired of brick and stone and rumbling wagon-wheels
I hunger for the sea's edge, the limit of the land
Where the wild old Atlantic is shouting on the sand
Oh I'll be going, leaving the noises of the street
To where a lifting foresail-foot is yanking at the sheet
To a windy, tossing anchorage where yawls and ketches ride
Oh I'll be going, going, until I meet the tide
And first I'll hear the sea-wind, the mewing of the gulls
The clucking, sucking of the sea about the rusty hulls
The songs at the capstan at the hooker warping out
And then the heart of me'll know I'm there or thereabout
♪
Oh I am sick of brick and stone, the heart of me is sick
For windy green, unquiet sea, the realm of Moby Dick
And I'll be going, from the roaring of the wheels
For a wind's in the heart of me, and a fire's in my heels