Lyrics

Word has come to Newfoundland, the Ocean Ranger’s down
They’re sending out the rescue boat from the harbor at Saint John’s
She’s going out upon the banks, a hundred -twenty miles
And they hope the oceans have been kind, they pray that fortune smiles

The helos sit at Stephenville, they await the word to go
The pilots walk the tarmac as they watch the ice and snow
They cup their coffee in their hands to keep away the cold
For they know that time is all too short and the day is growing old

The skipper on the searcher, now, he’s been out here before
He started on the Franklin just before the war
The weather comes from north-northeast, the wind she backs around
She’s taking ice upon her bow, he slows the engines down

The weather clears at Stephenville, they head out to the east
Their rotors scream a mournful cry, like gulls that search the beach
They head out under hanging clouds, above the ocean’s throng
And they send the word to old Saint Johns, the Ocean Ranger’s gone

The word comes o’er the ship-to-shore, he turns the boat around
He puts her stern into the wind and heads back for Saint John’s
Last time out they won the race, last time they brought ‘em in
But men have died and more will die off of Newfoundland

Some men are bound to sea, they fish or hunt the whale
Some are bound to snow or ice, and some to storm or gale
Other men are sent to sea to fight their country’s wars
Beneath the hell of shot and shell the gray seas wait for more

So, the news comes back to Newfoundland, the Ocean Ranger’s gone
The church bells toll for eighty-four, they sing a parting psalm
Prayers are said for those who’ve died and those at sea who toil
For more than money has been spent for North Atlantic oil.