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From the island of the mountains to the hills across Argyll
With a heart that is so broken with every weary mile
And he'll never hear the whisper of his Hebridean wind
Or the thunder of the ocean as the Minch comes tumbling in

CHORUS
He's holding out
He's holding out
On the frayed edge of time
On the borderline

And he rests, the tired shepherd, where the gentle Devon flows
But inside there is a yearning that no-one really knows
And in the quiet of the evening he would sing his island songs
For the ashes of his fathers and the children of his sons

CHORUS

These chains have not been broken and our freedom is not won
And though many words are spoken we still wander weary on
And there are a hundred questions and a thousand reasons why
But our answers they are somewhere in the Hebridean sky

CHORUS

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