Stan Rogers' exquisite conversation between two conflicting ways of life and the world views which accompany them. One, the life of stability, family, and sense of place; the other the life of travel, excitement, and disrupted relationships. Told through the voice of the lock-keeper rather than the world traveller, its sympathies are clear. Or are they? [ET] Ed: 6-string guitar and vocal; Gordon: 'cellamba.
You say, "Well met again, lock-keeper;
We're laden even deeper than the time before,
Oriental oils and tea brought down from Singapore."
As we wait for my lock to cycle,
I say, "My wife has just given me a son."
"A son," you cry, "Is that all that you've done?
"She wears bougainvillea blossoms;
You pluck them from her hair and toss them in the tide,
Sweep her in your arms and carry her inside.
Her sighs catch on your shoulder;
Her moonlit eyes grow bold and wiser through the tears."
And I say, "How could you stand to leave her for a year?"
''Then come with me, " you say,
"To where the Southern Cross rides high upon your shoulder.
Come with me, " you cry,
"Each day you tend this lock you're one day older,
And your blood grows colder."
But that anchor chain's a fetter,
And with it you are tethered to the foam,
And I wouldn't trade your life
For one hour of home.
Sure, I'm stuck here on the seaway
While you compensate for leeway through the trades,
And you shoot the stars to see the miles you've made.
And you laugh at hearts you've riven,
But which of these has given us more love or life:
You, your tropic maids, or me, my wife?
"Then come with me," you say,
"To where the Southern Cross rides high upon your shoulder.
Come with me," you cry,
"Each day you tend this lock you're one day older,
And your blood grows colder."
But that anchor chain's a fetter,
And with it you are tethered to the foam,
And I wouldn't trade your life
For one hour of home.
Ah, that anchor chain's a fetter,
And with it you are tethered to the foam,
And I wouldn't trade your life
For one hour of home.