This Lyric is #344

Harbor
Marc Douglas Berardo
(C) 2006 Overhead Map Music, ASCAP

The Hurricane of 38 ‘bout destroyed the whole damn fleet
The fisherman was out of luck then
He was back out in the streets

My Grandfather took to the whiskey
It made him both quiet and mean
One drink and he’d be screaming
The next he’s be so serene

He’d walk the edge of this harbor
And keep it all inside
He died in 1975

Down in the borough its quiet
And the sloops are all on blocks
Years before it was so alive
they spoke mostly Portuguese on these docks

Me I came to this town, I was just drawn to the sea
I thought the past owed me something
I thought the ocean would set me free
But there’s something I can’t tell you, something I’ve kept in
I’ve stowed it at the bottom but it’s coming up again

So I walk the edge of the harbor
And mutter to myself
And I keep a little whiskey on the shelf

This morning the thunder heads did gather and I watched a seabird fly
To the edge of break wall
Into the western sky
Out beyond that break, above the wild sea
Light as air, that bird was free

High above my tiny world into the desperate blue
Long gone and finally out of view
What it really made me feel I cannot really say
I just can’t find the words today

Here in this Harbor
Here in this Harbor



[This message has been edited by Marty Helly (edited 06-09-2006).]