Islands
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These islands once made their trade
By building ships at home on the beach
The boats in line along the harbor
To be washed in the fresh waves out to sea
The winter storms crossing through the bay
Their chilly blows in through the night
And the beacons on the highest hilltops
Were pointing to where the ships with their lights
All boats in line across the waters
They sailed the Chicago to the shore
And in the empty hall of stone walls
Was wishing they could be here again
I'm standing here
This place is called Old Lights House
These places
They're not to be missed
I stand
These places
They're not to be missed
I stand
These places
They're not to be missed