Black Album

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The Back of the North Wind

In the grey o' the gloomin' there sits an old man
wi'a glint in his eye and a glass in his hand
And he sings to the new day when the old day is done
Cryin' "Where are my daughters and where are my sons?"

And it's rovin' for pleasure by mountain and stream
Rovin' for sorrow wi' whisky for dreams
Rovin' for fortune on a far foreign shore
At the back o' the north wind there's rovin' no more.

The old woman pulls at the old shuttle wheel
She sings o' the cradle the plough and the creel
She sings to the bairns as she weaves and she spins
An old woman's song to the tune o' the wind.

And it's rovin' for pleasure by mountain and stream...

There's a maiden who scatters the seed on the land
But the wind takes a share o' the seed from her hand
That others might harvest what Scotland can sow
As far as the blast o' the north wind can blow.

And it's rovin' for pleasure by mountain and stream...