About a gunshot away there¡¯s a place that I long to be?tippin¡¯ bottles with me
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old cock. When the shit¡¯s all said and sorted, I plan to settle down and stay?one
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middle finger to the landlocked. From the first time boatin¡¯ o¡¯r there¡¯s not too much
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I can recall. I kissed a plastic cod and drank rum till I was friggered. I decided then
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and there that I¡¯d return, even if I had to crawl. Something outside was broken and
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something inside me, triggered. It¡¯s a long ride home, but it¡¯s always my destination.
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It¡¯s a long ride home. If the sun bursts apart at the end of the world, I don¡¯t think
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I will give a damn as long as I¡¯m surrounded by friends and pints in goddamned
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Newfoundland. So here¡¯s to Newfoundland. I breathed a sigh of relief the next time
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steppin¡¯ off the plane. It¡¯d been a long, hard, vapid winter. Johnny and the boys
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were waiting there ready to explain, they weren¡¯t there to drive us, just a welcome
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back to the Island. So we taxied to the venue to prepare for the night to sweep.
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Slept in the back room until the India showed up. When we finally took the stage,
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it shifted beneath our feet. We stood on the shoulders of proud Newfoundlanders.
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And I think it bears repeating that no one buckled under. We all got bit by the cod
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that we all kissed. It left an infection in our lips and a longing in the mist. You¡¯re
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as deep as the grave, and you¡¯re marching to the heartbeat of the land. Yes, I be a
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Newfoundlander B¡¯y. Not by birth, but in m y heart. Yes, I be a Newfoundlander B¡¯y.
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Mist
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| Protest The Hero |
