The Wind Carries Their Whispers

The wind, the wind the cruel wind
Carries whispers of the head
Who does upon the cruel seas
And widows of maidens made
On story nights when fishermen
Rose stallion boats upon the waves
Who thought they were masters of the seas
And found themselves its slaves.

Few bodies made it back to shore
In its bosom their corpses it keeps
And many lonely widows
On its banks daily weeps
And yet more again they face the wave
Though its not out of greed
For they must harvest the rolling waters
For fish to sell and on to feed.