#01741 Print This PagePrint This Page

My Homestead By The Sea

My father lived on this island
For sixty-five years now or more,
He fished the cold ocean waters,
Just like his father before;
Built a home and raised a family,
And kept the community strong,
Then he passed his trade on to his children,
When our generation came along.

And the fishermen sailed from the harbour,
As they made their way out to the sea,
And the home fires burned, waiting for their return,
To their homestead down by the sea.

My brother and I fished together,
Caught our share of cod fish to sell,
Built our homes overlooking the ocean,
In the village that we loved so well;
Once a week, all dressed in our Sunday best,
In the little white church above the town,
We'd give thanks and sing praise for the blessings,
He gave for good fortune and friends all around.

And the fishing boats stayed in the harbour,
As a warm breeze blew from the sea,
And the children sang as the church bells rang,
In our village down by the sea.

Then the Feds came around, said we're closing you down,
You can bring no more cod fish ashore,
If you move you'll get paid to learn a new trade,
And you won't have to fish any more.
Our children, still eager for knowledge,
All went back to school with their friends,
They moved to the city from college,
And never came back home again.

Now the cold wind blows on the island,
The white caps form on the sea,
The shutters crack on that weathered shack,
That was home sweet home to me.

Sometimes I go back and stand on the wharf,
Looking out, with the wind in my hair,
Then I turn and look back at that weathered old shack,
And I think of the good times we shared;
In my mind I still see how great life used to be,
With my good wife, our children and I,
But I know now that's gone, so I'll turn and move on,
As I wipe the tears from my eyes.

And the cold winds blow on the island,
The white caps form on the sea;
The shutters crack on that weathered shack,
That was home sweet home to me.

And the cold wind blows on the island,
And the white caps form on the sea;
The shutters crack on that weathered shack,
That was home sweet home to me.
The shutters crack on that weathered shack,
That was home sweet home to me.

####.... John Hollohan of Summerville and Gander, NL. ©2004. Written by request for Hal and Herb, The Newfie Trio (Every Newfie's Dream, 2004) ....####

See more John Hollohan songs.

line
Main Page
line

~ Copyright Info ~



Valid XHTML 1.0 Transitional