Where the North Sea meets the rocky shore
Grey waves crash against grey stone
And dark weed sways with the breathing sea
As it has for all eternity
Where the fog’s forever rolling in
And we listen forever to the eastern wind
This flat land I call home
Above the cities the cathedrals rise
Their dark bell-towers piercing skies
Which spitting gargoyles fill with clouds
Their silent rage has summoned down
And if for just one evening the rain would cease
We could listen to the western breeze
In this flat land I call home
The sky’s so low above the roofs
Pressing down on all that moves
The sky’s so grey I shut my eyes
And listen to the north wind sigh
I need the night to wash away
The darkness of this morbid grey
Of this flat land I call home
Winter melts to April rain
And leaves behind a barren plain
But when the world’s aflame with colours bright
When the fields turn golden in July
When the south wind ripples through the corn
When the days are long and blue and warm
I think of the flat land I call home