Catherine liked high places 
High up on the hills 
A place for making noises 
Noises like the Whales 
Here she built a chapel with 
Her image on the wall 
A place where she could rest and 
A place where she could wash 
and listen to the wind blow 
She dreamt of children's voices 
And torture on the wheel 
Patron-Saint of nothing 
A woman of the hills 
She once was a lady 
Of pleasure, and high-born 
A lady of the city 
But now she sits and moans 
and listens to the wind blow 
I see her in her chapel 
High up on a hill 
She must be so lonely 
Oh Mother, can't we give 
A husband to our Catherine? 
A handsome one, a dear 
A rich one for the lady 
Someone to listen with