The icon fly's high watches all
in absolute absence disdain.
In the shadow of the Acadian machinery
Man's industry belches black smoke.
into a polluted bruised sky.
Gears turn in arcane factories
faces of white skeletal things wither
watch absent heavens, staggering
Along the windswept sea stretching to infinity
broken bones of unimaginable Tyranny
I see all as it once was in the mind's eye
bleak landscapes of industry burn
spires reaching to torch heaven,
to touch the face of a forgotten god
Oblong boxes burn like tombstones in a cemetery
The orb of moons silver light trace
Black sandy beaches
Oily bruised waves crest
I stand and scan the horizon
a dark sea deep a lighthouse flares
I note how the waste blinds me
I feel the bitter ice of industry
cut in my broken soul
I can only fight to weaken from this nightmare...
The French sail
To the Riviera
From the metis
To Canada
They became Acadians
And settled in Port Royale
Their lives were famine and conquest
But that didn’t hurt morale
The British were closing in
To evict the Acadians from the land
But they stood strong, and refused to yield
The British took control, and so began the great upheaval
Heed the wind
that rocks the sea
That carries the Acadians
No one be free
It’s a cold moon
an old man looks upon
The only home he ever knew
And now his world is gone
His wife had died in labor
He had to start again
He found another wife
Had two children while his first bred was a man
They travel on the Duke William
The sickness takes many down
He feels the sickness coming in
Before his life be drowned
The ship moored off Canso
After the violet sank
Duke William would follow in Tow
His old life returns to the age
His son lives on
To move to Cajun’s wood
For the Acadian spirit carries on
To the future of his brood
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