Catherine liked high places   High up on the hills   A place for making noises   Noises like the whales      Here she built a chapel   With her image on the wall   A place where she could rest and   A place where she could wash   And listen to the wind blow      She dreamt of children's voices   And torture on the wheel   Patron-saint of nothing   A woman of the hills      She once was a lady   Of pleasure and high-born   A lady of the city   But now she sits and moans   And listens to the wind blow      I see her in her chapel   High up on a hill   She must be so lonely   Oh mother, can't we give   A husband to our Catherine?      A handsome one, a dear   A rich one for the lady   Someone to listen with