Way up North in the Highlands of Scotland there are salmon farms;
They were caught in the rivers, now in pens they can’t get free.

The salmon eggs of their free counterparts
Hatch in Northern Europe and Canada
And then the fry drift downstream toward the sea…

And still their brothers are swimming, swimming in circles,
In farms the salmon are swimming, they can’t get to the sea.

After two years the growing salmon smolt
Will have reached the mouth of the river,
So they head out to their feeding grounds in the sea…

And still their sisters are swimming, swimming in circles,
In farms the salmon are swimming, they can’t get to the sea.

The salmon follow the currents,
Feeding and doubling their weight each year;
After four years they are ready to head back inland…

And still their siblings are swimming, swimming in circles,
In farms the salmon are swimming, they can’t get to the sea.

Nevermore will they flow with the waterfall,
Nevermore will they glide through the kelp so tall;
They will swim evermore in this Scottish lake,
Destined only to be a salmon steak;
And the parasites that infest their scales,
From their clogged-up gills to their ragged tails,
Well they spread into schools of their wild-swimming friends,
As their waste poisons the water beneath their floating pens.

But still the salmon are swimming, parasite-laden,
In farms the salmon are swimming, they can’t get to the sea.

When the fish reach the mouth of the river,
They must wait in dangerous water,
Until the rains fall and the river is high enough to swim…

And still their brothers are swimming, swimming in circles,
In farms the salmon are swimming, they can’t get to the sea.

Meanwhile the silver sides of the ocean fish
Turn to red, now that they’re courting;
The salmon jump waterfalls, travelling upstream…

And still their sisters are swimming, swimming in circles,
In farms the salmon are swimming, they can’t get to the sea.

Nevermore will they see the kelp so tall,
Nevermore will they jump the waterfall;
They will swim evermore in this Scottish lake,
Destined only to be a salmon steak;
And the parasites that infest their scales,
From their clogged-up gills to their ragged tails,
Well they spread into schools of their wild-swimming friends,
As their waste poisons the water beneath their floating pens.

But still the salmon are swimming, parasite-laden,
In farms the salmon are swimming, they can’t get to the sea.

As the leaves turn in the forests,
The fish have reached their birth-place riverbed
And it is here that they’ll breed, their one last task…

And still their siblings are swimming, swimming in circles,
In farms the salmon are swimming, they can’t get to the sea.

Having fought the waves and the waterfalls,
The fish are food now for the birds and bears,
Making way for their young, that’ll hatch in Spring…

And still their cousins are swimming, swimming in circles,
In farms the salmon are swimming, they can’t get to the sea.

So let’s enforce fishing caps and lets move the pens,
So the parasites won’t infest their wild-swimming friends,
Develop better medicines that won’t affect the food chains
And reroute straightened rivers to reward the salmons’ pains,
Making spawning sites out of disused weirs,
So the salmon fry will never know their parents’ fears;
And if every month we all eat one less salmon meal,
Then the salmon population can begin to heal.