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.