The Fisherman

The Fisherman

Old Pete White can never erase his pale blue eyes or the scar on his face

That runs below his left eye across his cheek only makes him look just a little more antique

Born and raised as a fisherman’s son one hand in the ocean and the other one

Grabbing on to whatever he could hold like a trap or maybe faith or just fool’s gold

Living on his boat like a second home

A wooden frame on the water with a little chrome, and rust

He can’t believe it’s been three years

The sea has taken all his tears

And damn those shores that hold him in

He’ll never see that face again

Taught his son from the age of nine how to haul a net and how to tow a line

Fishin’s the only thing he’s ever had passing wisdom to his son from his own dad

That boy learned quick and he grew up fast you don’t have a choice if you want to last

Out on the North Atlantic sea but in this line of work there’s never a guarantee

So you gamble and pray every single night

Cause you never know when your good luck just might, run out

He can’t believe it’s been three years

The sea has taken all his tears

And damn those shores that hold him in

He’ll never see that face again

Whenever they’d ask him about his scar he’d get real quiet and seemed so far

Came across as being unaware either lost in thought or maybe lost in prayer

The people who knew didn’t bother to ask about the scar or about the past

They’d all heard the story of old Pete and the local townies all wanted to be discreet

And he runs his fingers across that mark

All day until the sky turns, dark

He can’t believe it’s been three years

The sea has taken all his tears

And damn those shores that hold him in

He’ll never see that face again

Now the paint on the boat has gotten chipped and stale

With a sign on the front that says for sale