The wind sweeps 'cross the open bay and waves pound on the shore,
I've come back to see the place I left so long before;
In the small abandoned church where once we knelt and prayed,
I whisper softly: I've come back - I wish that I had stayed.
Gone now are the stages built on rock and stilts,
Gone too are the fishermen and the dories that they built;
All alone, gray houses stare out with vacant eyes,
Listening to the rolling surf and a sea bird's lonely cries.
Where are the hardy fishermen who gathered 'round the stove?
Where, too, are the children who grew up in the cove?
And all the aging mothers who watched the young leave home,
Did they one day pass away, broken-hearted and alone?
Gone now are the stages built on rock and stilts,
Gone too are the fishermen and the dories that they built;
All alone, gray houses stare out with vacant eyes,
Listening to the rolling surf and a sea bird's lonely cries.
And the letters that were written by feeble, shaking hands,
Did they always reach loved ones in other far-off lands?
Did no one care to visit them or send for them to come?
Surely every spring the schooner brought good news to some.
Gone now are the stages built on rock and stilts,
Gone too are the fishermen and the dories that they built;
All alone, gray houses stare out with vacant eyes,
Listening to the rolling surf and a sea bird's lonely cries.
And a lonely sea bird cries.