Your nets will all tear and your catches will fail

Your ship will take water and thunderin' hail

You'll come home with nothing no prize pelt to claim

No whaler man's hero, no big village fame

For I am the selkie upon your black coast

Whose virginal hide you do not get to boast

Yes I am the old one of Alba's seas

Older than the castle, the beast and the trees

Selkie, selkie, come to me

I would like to own the sea

Human, human, you're insane

We don't even own our names

My kinfolk have warned me to stay in the deep

For human man sees us as something to keep

But lo he is gentle, and lo he is kind

Tall, dark and dashing in silks so fine

He comes to the cliff edge, he's waving a gun

And falls to his knees, reeling, reeking of rum

O I can smell sorrow, and I can smell fear

I go against nature and I swim near

Selkie, selkie, where's your pelt?

I would like it on my belt

Human, human, you're a fool

Chum mi e bho na fir sa chùil

The young man recoils with a hammering heart

As thick oily coat and my milk white skin part

Standing before him now, naked and wild

The northern wind biting yet both so beguiled

Now I dine beside him in finely stitched gowns

His Queen of the county in bright hammered crown

The people congratulate, "Such a fine catch!

Oh we cannot wait to see what she might hatch"

Selkie, selkie, come to me

I would like to own the sea

Human, human, you're insane

We don't even own our names

Chum mi e bho na fir sa chùil

Chum mi e bho na fir sa chùil

With every day passing, I remember less

My darling consoles me, "Dear it's for the best! "

But where is my seal skin, you'd hide it from me?

You dare try erasing the blood of the sea?

For I may be nameless but I sure have kin

Who'll sense what you've done and will sniff out your sin

They'll come in their dozens on fin and dark foam

Slippin' into bodies to track down your home

You think that your driftwood fence won't bow nor bend

As if that could stop them once they've got your scent

And you built your mansion right down on the sand

The seal folk will enter and tie up your hands

Your people will hunger, your harpoons will sink

You'll turn me loose then you'll turn to the drink

For I am the old one of Alba's shores

Older than the forest, the peat bog, the moors