Catherine liked high places
High up on the hills
A place for making noises
Noises like the whales
Here she built a chapel with
Her image on the wall
A place where she could rest on
A place where she could wash and listen to the wind below
She dreamt of children's voices
And torture on the wheel
Patron Saint of nothing
A woman of the hills
She once was a lady
Of pleasure and high born
A lady of the city
But now she sits and moans and listens to the wind below
I see her in her chapel
High up on the hill
She must be so lonely
Oh Mother, can't we give
A husband one, a dear
a rih one for the lady
Someone to listen with
--
big monster big monster lover
bigger pusher over
stands alone in most walks of life
walks alone in most walk of life
--
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