Once I was a fisherman; I handed in my oar,
Said, “I’ll not be slave to the waves no more.”
I traveled up to Brandyshire, and there I met a girl.
Said, “Come with me for to roam the Earth.”
She said, “My life; my leaf, I cannot leave.
My home is all grown up around me.
As much as I speak of the distant peaks,
Distant they’ll always be-oh.”

I turned into the forest for to flee the Marshal’s sword—
He’d marked my head on the theft of a horse.
I came upon a harbor town, but ‘ere I settled in,
The Marshal’s hooves clod along the wind.
I stole a skiff, and I drifted away
In the black of night, on the brink of rain.
The clouds all roared and stormed about,
The wind ripped my thin cloak around.
The waves rose up in the blackened sea,
And somewhere a voice came up over me,

Singing, “Terra-la-high, and terra-la-roo,
We’ve laid out these waves for you.
You’ll never more live in the world of men,
So our world will have to do.”

I swore myself I’d reach the shore; I’d break this wretched squall,
And I fought all night to escape its thrall.
By first of morn I’d hit the shore of an island, fair and free.
Said, “Let these stones build a home for me,
Oh, oh.”

I was three whole years within its care, ‘fore the Marshal tracked me down.
I’d been meeting my lady in the heart of town.
He stormed in with the thunder, and he boldly called me out—
Said, “There’ll be no escape for you now!”
I broke through a window, and I stole for the shore,
But the Marshal’s hounds were surrounding the port.
They cornered me up to the westward cliffs,
As the lightning cracked and the sky went dim.
The waves rose up in the blackened sea,
And somewhere a voice came up over me,

Singing, “Terra-la-high, and terra-la-roo,
We’ve laid out these waves for you.
You’ll never more live in the world of men,
So our world will have to do.
Oh, our world will have to do.”