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Sylvander


Free Account, Berlin

Ullapool in June 2005

I'm an honest fisherman just like my Dad
And I follow the fisherman's trade.
It's rough workin' hard when you search for the cod
From dawn to the closing of day.

Where the wind hurls its curses at you in the morn,
And blows them from sea to the land.
But you're back to your work and hauling the beds,
Till the sun shines its mercies again.

Now the silvery treaure I took from the ocean
And pockets of cash on the shore.
But what do you do when the fishing is gone
And your boat ploughs the white waves no more?

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