immigrants suffering from insecurity,
hundred and fifty thousand strong in the early fifties,
their farms, Bruck and Dominion for U.S. factories.
English loyalists to the crown stayed here willingly.
Englandís gift, two hundred free acres of dairy land,
of us living here today know why and understand.
perfectly noble philosophy for the poor working class,
catholics be hardworking and donít miss mass.
is only to have children otherwise a mortal sin,
10% of your paycheck and stay humble within.
your name is Boisvert, better change it to Greenwood,
allegiance to the flag like a good citizen should.
last time I came back across the border to Canada,
few office jobs later I ventured out West to Alberta.
awesome beauty of snow capped mountains in July,
shirt and tie to cowboy boots, denim and blue Levies.
subterranean oceans of natural gas energy to recover,
must build sixteen miles of pipeline South to the border.
thousand dollar paycheck, countless hours of hard-work,
never had time to wash or change our muddy shirts.
by the gleaming Rockies, the never ending prairie sky,
times I would ask myself what is truly a manís job and why!
but somehow all this seemed so irrelevant with each new sunrise.
older pipe-liner shouted worriedly that weíre in for a surprise,
fast approaching storm clouds erased the Northern lights.
bolt of lightning split the air grounding miles of laid out pipe,
the big sky country to neon and we all choked of fright.
front-end worker burnt to a crisp a couple hundred feet away,
can still see the red-hot steaming pipe-joints even to this day.
gruesome sight to see a man electrocuted in one deadly flash,
Pincher Creek, Alberta this sixteen-mile loop would be my last.