The Fishermen's Song

On a storm-torn shoreline a woman is standing The spray hung like jewels in her hair And the sea tore the rocks on the desolate landing As though it had known she stood there; For she has gone down to condemn that wild ocean For the murderous loss of her man His boat sailed out last Wednesday morning And it's feared she's gone down with all hands; Oh and white were the wavecaps and wild was their parting Such is the glory of love And she prayed to the gods both of men and of sailors Not to cast their cruel nets on her man; There's a school on a hill where the sons of dead sailors Are led toward tempests and gales And their god-given wings are clipped close to their bodies And their eyes abound round with ship's sails What force leads a man to a life filled with danger High on seas or a mile underground It's when need is his master and poverty's no stranger And there's no other work to be found; For she has gone down to condemn that wild ocean For the murderous loss of her man His boat sailed out last Wednesday morning And it's feared she's gone down with all hands.