| It’s been five days
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| In these boats of the Glen Carrig
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| When I’s awed by such solitude
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| Alas, God moves in mysterious ways
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| So we pulled wearily towards the isle
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| I swear t’was all but flagrant flatness
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| If we’d only known it was sheer madness
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| We’d stay away many a nautical mile
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| Then there came the first telling of life
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| Like a lonesome wind or a breathy sigh
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| Yet there was no breeze that filled the air
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| With such a despairful cry
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| We harked to the weeping of souls
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| When it died away — no further calls
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| There was this monstrous silence after all
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| Again we harked — what might next befall?
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| A sullen growling from afar —
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| The dark was full of it, I swear
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| Aye, no word of which I’ve knowlede
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| So well describes this hunger, most awesome to the ear |