Mark Hollis Westward Bound
Opaline through her hair
Born on an April tide
Glowing in the wonder of our first child
There my promise is
A spur
A rein
The world upon my back
The pressure upon this earth
Drought's heir
Sown my money
Sold my shirt
Sown my money
Migrate
Job on the threshing line
Mute I walk
Idle ground
Westward bound
