Fill us with mist
From a seaward assault
And look to the distance
Where the doves go to walk

A safe house of looking glass
Honoured in brine
Taking in prisoners
To make nothing of time

Faint smells of catch
For tomorrow's our feast
Father's away
On our fierce ocean deep

It caters our weddings,
Sundays, and Yule
Until the mother forgets
We abide by her rule