Stan Rogers все тексты (слова) песен, переводы, видео, клипы

Uncle Emile, he's gone now nearly ten days
He tole his wife's he's gone for the fishing
But in the waters off St. Pierre and Miquelon Isles
The fish come in bottles of gold
If the Anne-Marie floats and the Mounties stay blind
He'll be back before the moon is rising
With a very fine catch all safe in the hold
Thirty cases of Trinidad light

Sun is rising high, burning into the day,
I will say goodbye, I'll be going away,
Brush away my doubts, what tommorrow will hold,
Feeling fine for now, going down the road...

To a city to sing, about the trees and the wind,
'Bout the hills in spring, and the rivers that bend,
The rocky deep pass, and the poppies and ponies,

This day, a year ago, he was rolling in the snow
With a younger brother in his father's yard.
Christmas break - a time for touching home
The heart of all he'd known, and leaving was so hard -
Three thousand miles away, now he's working Christmas Day
Making double time for "the minding of the store"...
Well, he'd always said he'd make it on his own
He's spending Christmas Eve alone.

It was just like strapping 'em on and starting again,
Coaching these kids to the top, and calling them men.
I was a third round pick in the NHL
And that's three years of living in hell,
And going up flying, and going home dying.

My life was over the boards and playing the game,
And every day checking the papers and finding my name.

Ah for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage
To find the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea
Tracing one warm line through a land so wide and savage
And make a Northwest Passage to the sea

Westward from the Davis Strait, 'tis there was said to lie
The sea route to the orient for which so many died
Seeking gold and glory, leaving weathered broken bones

I've been sitting here crying since long before the day began
With my pockets full of nothing but broken dreams
And my head in my empty hands
The winnings that I thought I had and come so far to get
Are further away than they've ever been
They've been taken by another man.

I wouldn't take the frain for home even if I could

Watch the field behind the plow turn to straight, dark rows.
Feel the trickle in your clothes,
Blow the dust cake from your nose.
Hear the tractor's steady roar,
Oh you can't stop now. There's a quarter section more or less to go

And it figures that the rain keeps its own sweet time.
You can watch it come for miles, but you guess you've got a while.

Pale was the wounded knight, that bore the rowan shield
Loud and cruel were the raven's cries that feasted on the field
Saying "Beck water cold and clear will never clean your wound
There's none but the witch of the Westmoreland can make thee hale and soon"

So turn, turn your stallion's head 'til his red mane flies in the wind
And the rider of the moon goes by and the bright star falls behind
And clear was the paley moon when his shadow passed him by

Bits and pieces you offered
Of your life; I didn’t think they meant a lot,
Or said much for you.
And all the chances to follow
Didn’t make a lot of sense when stacked against
The choices you made.

For yours was the open road,

Now it's just my luck to have the watch, with nothing left to do
But watch the deadly waters glide as we roll north to the 'Sioux',
And wonder when they'll turn again and pitch us to the rail
And whirl off one more youngster in the gale.

The kid was so damned eager. It was all so big and new.
You never had to tell him twice, or find him work to do.
And evenings on the mess deck he was always first to sing,