Well he’s off to Nova Scotia in the morning

Where the whales sing and ice burgs touch the sky

He’s tired of the fusty stale old workhouse

And he needs the salty sea to spark his eye.

He remembers when he was a child of nine years old

To Newfoundland he surely found his way

The ocean was his home

Wherever he did roam

And Penzance was a lonely pla...

Read and leave comments (10)