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It's Maine, and it's Autumn, the birches have just begun turning |
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It's life and it's dying |
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The lobstermen's boats come returning with the catch of the day in their holds |
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And the young boy is cold and complaining |
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The fog meets the beaches and out on the Reach it is raining |
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It's father and son, it's the way it's been done since the old days |
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It's hauling by hand ten miles out from the land where their chow waits |
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And the days are all lonely and long and the seas grow so stormy and strong but... |
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The Reach will sing welcome as homeward they hurry along |
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(Chorus) |
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And the morning will blow away as the waves crash and fall |
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And the Reach like a siren sings as she beckons and calls |
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As the coastline recedes from view and the seas swell and roll |
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I will take from the Reach all that she has to teach to the depths of my soul |
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The wind brings a chill, there's a frost on the sill in the morning |
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It creeps through the door |
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On the edge of the shore ice is forming |
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Soon the northers will bluster and blow |
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And the woods will be whitened with snowfall |
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And the Reach will lie frozen for the lost and unchosen to row |
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(Chorus) |
