If you should see my boat
under the slate grey sky;
Dandy-rigged and tacking
from a rolling bank of fog;
Then throw me a line,
and tow me home
to Newlyn's Harbour shore;
Where my love lies a-waiting me.
The deep and empty ocean
is nowadays my home;
I hunt for enough catch
to fill my quota and my hold;
and remember as a boy
running down Old Paul Hill
to meet my father's laden boat
as it pulled up to the Strand.
So I drive my long-liner far from home;
plough her through the sea foam.
Aged boat and nets to mend;
I leave my home for weeks on end.
And I spend my life out on the sea;
The spume, the gulls, the boat and me.
And I pray to God with fervent wish;
Oh Lord, send me a full net of fish.
So when I return I will be able
To provide my family with a full table.
So if you see my boat go passing by,
Wave to me under the slate grey sky.
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