Posted by: Farley | July 28, 2009

The Banks Of The Albany

The Fur Trade Route
By the time we shipped the oars
The sun was going down
We built our fires high
And bedded on the ground

Oh, the banks of the Albany
Are hard as they outta be
And I am praying, for the day
We reach the bay

Auroras light the sky
Sparks fly and join the dance
Loons sing lullabies
And me, je manque La France
(and me, I’m missing France)

Granite shorelines carved by glaciers
The land of Ojibway and the Cree
Meadows blaze with yellow lady-slippers
Violet covered hills
Where the white water spills
Running … to the Bay
… à la Baie

This load of beaver pelt
Gets heavy in the rain
Slippin on the rock
As we portage again

The trader at the Sioux
Said in Moosonee beware
He plied us all with booze
And cheated us then and there


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