Newfoundland

I crossed the deep blue waters,
I entered Port Aux Basques,
The entrance to Newfoundland,
I was going there at last.

I'd heard lots of stories,
I'd heard lots of tales,
About the majestic mountains,
And the men who set their sails.

The rugged coast of Newfoundland,
Beauty by the sea,
The flowing pack of the northern ice,
And a gentle blowing breeze.

I headed up the western coast,
Passed through Corner Brook,
Woody Point, and Grosse Mourne Park,
And there I stopped to look.

At God's creation at its best,
Things I'd never seen,
Mountains reaching for the skies,
And flowing valley streams.

The winding road through Bonne Bay,
Rocky Harbour, too,
I watched the seagulls in Port Aux Choix,
Flying in the blue.

I was five hundred miles,
North of Port Aux Basques,
In a town they call St. Anthony,
I'd found my dream at last.

If you are a traveling man,
With the world to see,
Save Newfoundland for the last,
I'm sure you will agree.

Newfoundland, Newfoundland,
You're all I ever dreamt about and more;
Newfoundland, Newfoundland,
You're heaven here on earth and that's for sure.