In my heart there’s a call for the isles far away
Where the wind from the Horn often wanders at play.
Where the kelp moves and swells to the wind and the tide
And penguins troop down from the lonely hillside.
Those isles of the sea are calling to me
The smell of the camp fire a dear memory.
Though far I may roam, some day I’ll come home
To the islands, the Falklands, the isles of the sea.
There’s a camp house down yonder I’m longing to see,
Though it’s no gilded palace it’s there I would be.
Just to be there again I would race o’er the foam,
For that lone house so far is my own home sweet home.
Now we’re off to the Falklands, so wild and so free,
Where there’s tussock and kelp and the red diddle-dee,
And the wild rugged beauty that thrills more than me
Is bred in the bones on the isles of the sea.