The Cutter

When you arrived in Canada you
walked the streets out of
work out of money, prospects bleak.
Now the plane comes down from the morning sky
and you touch the land where the fire won't die

Johnny, you're home, man.
It's a long road you drove us down.
It's only a moment since the diesels turned.

Now the blade cuts clean through the island soil.
The years roll back and the world grows small.
You stand on the banks in the wind and the rain
and all of your money can't hide this pain.
Johnny, you're home, man.
It's a long road you drove us down.
It's only a moment since the diesels turned.

His heath flame is burning bright
burning every night.
It's winter in Ontario.
The wheels that turned us village kids
carry through the heaths they no longer turn for you.

So you hold your mother and you
bless the air with the tears of the emigrant,
tongue of the Gael and the
plane takes off in a clear blue sky.
Life's a long lost list of last good byes.
Johnny, you're home, man.
It's a long road you drove us down.
It's only a moment since the
diesels turned.
Johnny, you're home, man.
It's a long road you drove us down.
It's only a moment since the
diesels turned.