Can o´ beans an´ ripped-off trail mix
never tasted so good
Cruising the Atlantic, the cold Caribbean
Whale-watching under August skies
With leaky bottle, ukulele,
an´ trusty cookin´ pot
Cravin´ Hunter S. Thompson or a taste o´ Kerouac
Fiddles in my mind, "Farewell to Nova Scotia"
Fondly remembering Celtic punk shows
The whirring ferry engine, the lolling waves
The craggy cliffs of Cape Breton
decimated, receding as an old man´s hairline
Wrinkles, bad liver, an´ sick from the drink
Snifflin´ saltwater, fish, an´ gasoline
Crusty as barnacles, thirsty as the sea
An ocean of yesterdays
wellin´ up in me.
I would give anything for adventure if you would give everything for love.
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