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I packed my bags and said my goodbyes.
I was out the door before sunrise.
I'm going to find my own way in this wild-eyed world.

The sky's black with a touch a green.
The morning star's hanging over the sea.
Take one breath…before I have to leave.

The marram grass is bent in a northern breeze.
Full sails, won't you carry me
far from this townbefore I change my mind.

It seems like everybody's
moving out of town these days.
Greener fields in their sights.
I hear the bright lights of the city calling me

Besides, the factory is shutting down.
I hear your heading out West
and I guess I'm headed South.
Take one breath…before I have to leave.

Copyright 2012 Finley Martin Music

The Empress of Ireland was a majestic black ocean liner, fast and reliable, on her way to Liverpool.
On the 29th of May, the fog was thick and smoke grey. The darkest of mornings, long before the dawn begins

Out from that deep abyss came a coal-carrying collier. As smoothly as an assassin’s knife, she slit the Empress open wide. She shuddered and shook, steel moaned, as water gushed in through the gash in her hull. In minutes she listed so heavily, on her side she was thrown.

Captain Kendall was knocked from the bridge into that frigid St. Lawrence He swam to the surface and clung to a wooden grate. He floated there helplessly as the Empress lurched up violently
and with one last gasp plunged into the deep.

Off the coast of Rimouski lies a little known cemetery where a Salvation Army band’s brass bell rings
for the thousand and twelve that lost their lives, women and children, soldiers and wives.
For the Empress of Ireland, that once majestic ocean liner.

Copyright 2012 Finley Martin Music

My breath reeks of gasoline. I rinse it out with Listerine.
My neck aches & my knees creak. Falling apart at the seams.

The tax man’s burning up my phone. “Pick it up! We know you’re home.
We can squeeze blood out of stone! We can strip meat to the bone!.”

Get yourself back up. Get yourself together.

My stomach’s tied in a Windsor knot. My red eyes & gut rot.
Head floating like an astronaut. On the door I thought I heard a knock.

Debt collector beating down the door. The little Napoleonic sleezeball
in a blue suit & cheap cologne. “Pay up! Or we’ll take it all!”

Get yourself back up. Get yourself together.

The sun is gonna shine, one of these days.

Copyright 2012 Finley Martin Music