From the island of the mountains to the hills across Argyll With a heart that is so broken with every weary mile And he'll never hear the whisper of his Hebridean wind Or the thunder of the ocean as the Minch comes tumbling in
CHORUS He's holding out, he's holding out On the frayed edge of time - on the borderline
And he rests, the tired shepherd, where the gentle Devon flows But inside there is a yearning that no-one really knows And in the quiet of the evening he would sing his island songs For the ashes of his fathers and the children of his sons CHORUS
These chains have not been broken and our freedom is not won And though many words are spoken we still wander weary on And there are a hundred questions and a thousand reasons why But our answers they are somewhere in the Hebridean sky CHORUS