How still lies the bay, in the light western airs Which blow from the crimson horizon Once more we tack home, with a dry empty hole Saving nets with the breezes so fair She's a kindly cape islander, old but still sound But so lost in the long liners shadow Make and Break and make do, but the fish are so few That she won't be replaced should she flounder
Now its so hard to not think of before the big war When the cod went so cheap, but so plenty Foreign trawlers go by now with long seeking eyes Taking all where we seldom take any And the young folk don't stay with the fisherman's ways Long ago they all moved to the cities And the ones left behind old and tired and blind Won't work for a pound, for a penny.
In Make and Break Harbour the boats are so few Too many are hold up and rotten. Most towns stand empty old nets hung to dry Are blown away lost and forgotten
Now I can see the big draggers that stirred up the bay Leaving lobster traps smashed on the bottom And they think it don't pay to respect the old ways That make and break men have not forgotten For we still keep our time to the turn of the tide In this boat that I built with my father Still lifts to the sky, "wan loller" and I Still talk like old friends on the water
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Copy to Clipboard: How still lies the bay, in the light western airs Which blow from the crimson horizon Once more we tack home, with a dry empty hole Saving nets with the breezes so fair She's a kindly cape islander, old but still sound But so lost in the long liners shadow Make and Break and make do, but the fish are so few That she won't be replaced should she flounder
Now its so hard to not think of before the big war When the cod went so cheap, but so plenty Foreign trawlers go by now with long seeking eyes Taking all where we seldom take any And the young folk don't stay with the fisherman's ways Long ago they all moved to the cities And the ones left behind old and tired and blind Won't work for a pound, for a penny.
In Make and Break Harbour the boats are so few Too many are hold up and rotten. Most towns stand empty old nets hung to dry Are blown away lost and forgotten
Now I can see the big draggers that stirred up the bay Leaving lobster traps smashed on the bottom And they think it don't pay to respect the old ways That make and break men have not forgotten For we still keep our time to the turn of the tide In this boat that I built with my father Still lifts to the sky, "wan loller" and I Still talk like old friends on the water
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