A place for making noises, like whales, noises like the whales. And she built a chapel, with her image, an image on the wall. A place where she could rest, and rest. And a place where she could wash, and wash. And listen to the wind blow, and listen to the wind blow, and listen to the wind. She dreamt of children's voices, and torture, and torture on the wheels. Patrons say nothing, a woman of the hills. She once was a lady, pleasure at her fall. Lady of the city, but now she sits and moans. Listen to the wind blow, listen to the wind blow, listen to the wind blow. I see her in her chapel, high up on the hill. She must be so lonely, her lover can't be killed. A husband to our Catherine, a handsome one, a dear. A rich one for the lady, someone to listen with. Listen to the wind blow, listen to the wind blow, listen to the wind. Listen to the wind blow, listen to the wind blow.