Tiny wrinkles tell a tale of many decades past
Of sleepless nights and lonely flights and weary eyes are cast
A home was left behind to make a living far from shore
Happiness came at last as he moved home to leave no more
It's the plight of Newfie folks to raise their little ones to grow and leave
But their roots they'll not shun every year the ferry comes
bringing tourists and homesick boys to the ferry dock
because no matter where they roam, they always belong on the rock.
The less fortunate ones who never see their roots
listen to their parents' stories of rainy days and old rubber boots
Of ships that left and never returned, of brave soldiers
who gave their lives so they could live to see the dawn
and feel the romance of fields of fog and picking blueberries near the bog.
They all like their feed of moose and a feed of tasty trout
Relish the first feed of lobster at the first taste they give a shout
"Oh my God it's good to be home, heaven must be great,
Could it be any better than this food upon my plate?"
They come from places far away and enjoy the local treats
But our heritage you have to experience
being from Newfoundland can't be beat
Soon I'll leave and go far away and enjoy far off places
But to the island I'll return if my God graces.