Westerly
Westerly
Breezes blowing through a blackthorn tree
She stands shivering with her back toward me
While the dimming day
Wends it way
Westerly

Westerly
This old guitar came from the factory
It was waiting on a rack for me
To smile and play
In a distant May
Westerly

Rivers have been here and gone
Written on wind
Like a seabird's song

Westerly
Left to drift out on the crashing sea
Wind is lifting now and lashing me
Castaway
Where the swells hold sway
Westerly