Here is the smell of seafood pie
A broken tower on the open sky
A chain of islands rolling west
In sight of the house where we are guests

A rambling old river twists through the fields
Ancient names imprinted on shields
Gifts arrive for a baby girl
Born a queen at the end of the world

Furious music from an open door
The sound of feet beating on a stone floor
Always the wind, always the form
Of an elder god, hooved and horned

The head of the mountain lost in a cloud
A country woman, soft and proud
Into the bay the horses swirl
For we come to the sea at the end of the world