Farewell to the Fowler
When Neil MacLeod went over the rock
It’s near three hundred feet he fell
From high on Soay’s Pointed Stack
Down to the wild Atlantic swell
With fifty fulmar round his waist
The wind, it never was blowing worse;
We could only watch him turning there
Buoyed up by the ghosts of birds
Storm will turn the sky to grey
Sky to grey, o sky to grey
Storm will turn the sky to grey
The sky as grey as the darkening wave
Buoyed up by the ghosts of birds
He was buoyed up by the ghosts of birds;
He went down once, he went down twice
Then Neil MacLeod went down a third
He waved his hand to say he’d gone
He waved his hand in surrender
And the sea waved back to Neil MacLeod
And Neil MacLeod went under
Storm will turn the sky to grey
Sky to grey, o sky to grey
Storm will turn the sky to grey
The sky as grey as the darkening wave