How can the small flowers grow,
If the wild winds blow,
And the cold snow is all around?
Where will the frail birds fly,
If their homes on high,
Have been torn down to the ground?
Lift the wings,
That carry me away from here and,
Fill the sail,
That breaks the line to home.
But when I'm miles and miles apart from you,
I'm beside you, when I think of you,
a Stòirìn, a Grì.
How can a tree stand tall,
If the rain won't fall,
To wash its branches down?
How can a heart survive,
Can it stay alive,
If its love's denied for long?
Lift the wings,
That carry me away from here and,
Fill the sail,
That breaks the line to home.
But when I'm miles and miles apart from you,
I'm beside you, when I think of you,
a Stòirìn,
And I'm with you as I dream of you,
a Stòirìn,
And a song will bring you near to me,
a Stòirìn, a Grì.
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