Jon Brooks

Lyrics

Where the Cree sealed canoes along Athabascan shores.
Where the Boreal trails and traplines are no more.
I can’t say it’s the same - but I know that if I could,
‘I’d be back home on Duckworth with my girl from Harbour Grace.


Where the New Pentecost is a harvest of bitumen.
Silver spires reaching up and blowing out a cat piss wind.
I can’t fairly complain ‘cause that same breeze is blowing
money home on Duckworth to my girl from Harbour Grace.


And as long as our love waits out Fort McMurrray.
From September to May in Fort McMurray.


Where the cab driver says ‘”Hamilton” – before he asks me ‘how far?’
I said “I’m goin’ down to The Oil Can, man, where the girls say “Montreal”’.


And where I asked: ‘if we fear – are we really still living?’
Where she said, ‘hey, peace lover – can’t you see no good in dyin’?’
I can’t say she meant nothing to me but I knew she knew all my thoughts were back home on Duckworth with my girl from Harbour Grace.


And as long as our love waits out Fort McMurrray.
From September to May in Fort McMurray.
O and as long as our love waits out Fort McMurray.


Where the Cree sealed canoes along Athabascan shores.