[Am]By the storm-torn[C] shoreline a woman is[Dm] standing
The[Am] spray strung like[C] jewels in her[Am] hair
the[C] sea tore the rocks[Dm] near the desolate landing
as[Am] though it had[C] known she stood[Dm] there.,,[Am]
[Am]For she had come down to con[C]demn that wild oc[Dm]ean
for the[Am] murderous[C] loss of her[Am] man,,,[F]
boat sailed[C] out on Wednesday[Dm] morning
And it's[Am] feared it's gone[C] down with all[Dm] hands.
Oh and white were the wave-caps
And wild was their parting
So fierce is the warring of love,
But she prayed
to the gods
Both of men and of sailors
Not to cast their cruel nets o'er her love.
There's a school on the hill
Where the songs of dead fathers
Are led toward tempests and gales,
Are clipped close to their bodies,
And their eyes are bound-'round with ships' sails.
What force leads a man
To a life filled with danger
High on seas or a mile underground?
It's when need is his
And poverty's no stranger,
And there's no other work to be found.