Our fortunes are fleeting
And our passage in steer
And God knows if I'll perish
In my twenty-fifth year
In this ship full of scurvy
With my bride at my hand
But I shall kiss her tenderly
In the great Newfoundland
And it's love/hope that we follow today
If we dare follow St. Brendan's way
Our fathers were tillers
And our mothers knew chance
And we've tasted hunger
In Ireland and France
And these seeds of misfortune
St. Bartholomew's Day
Shall be drowned in the new world
Chosen St. Brendan's way
There's a light shining on you tonight
A siren call, a harbour town, a northern light
A curse on the Union Jack
On it's empire and lance
And I'll piss on the troubled head
Of king Charles of France
But that's all behind us now a thousand miles away
And nothing can match the beauty
In the sight of Gaspe
There's salt on your naked skin
And there's salt in my tears
And without you I'd pass away
Under these privateers
But that baby inside you
Is the work of our hand
A child of the revolution
And a free thinking man
