By the storm torn shoreline
A woman is standing,
The spray strung like jewels in her hair.
And the sea tore the rocks
Near that desolate landing,
As though it had known she stood there.
For she has come down
To condemn that wild ocean
For the murderous loss of her man.
His boat sailed out on Wednesday morning,
And it's feared she's gone down
With all hands.
Oh and white were the wave caps
And wild was their parting.
So fierce is the warring of love.
But she prayed to the gods,
Both of men and of sailors,
Not to cast their cruel nets
o'er her love.
There's a school on the hill
Where the sons of dead fathers
Are led toward tempests and gales.
Where their God-given wings
Are clipped close to their bodies,
And their eyes are bound 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.