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She stands alone in the morning light,
Watching the day come by;
And she wonders how the hour of dawn,
Suddenly brings a tear to her eye.
By nine o'clock she is late for her job,
But she doesn't really care;
As she slips away from the old city smog,
And heaves a sigh in the Newfoundland air.
On Signal Hill she often stands,
Watching the waves roll in;
She hears the music of family and friends,
And wishes that she could be home once again.
Oh, the hills of home are calling to you,
Where ever you may be;
Oh, the memories are singing to you,
In perfect harmony.
She's writing lines at the close of the day,
Sweet letters of poetry;
That speak of rivers and mountain glens,
Where her aching heart forever will be.
She prays to God when she turns out the lights,
That he'd try to understand;
The only dream that she has on her mind,
Was the life she was living back in Newfoundland.
Oh, the hills of home are calling to you,
Where ever you may be;
Oh, the memories are singing to you,
In perfect harmony.
