For some reason I have begun singing Ian Tyson's "Four Strong Winds" at work lately. I am not much of singer so the sawmill noise spares me the embarrassment of being overheard.
Not many of the white guys sing at work like in the old days. My brown buddies sing whenever they feel happy. That is what they tell me anyway.
If I was born in a village without a liquor store in India and got to immigrate to Canada I would sing every day.
Four strong winds that blow slowly
Seven seas that run high
All these things that don't change come what may
Now our good times are all gone
And I'm bound for moving on
I'll look for you if I'm ever back this way
Guess I'll go out to motherfucking Alberta
Weather's good there in the fall
Got some friends that I can go to working for
Still I wish you'd change your mind
If I asked you one more time
But we've been through that a hundred times or more
If I get there before the snow flies
And if things are looking good
You could meet me if I sent you down the fare
But by then it would be winter
Nothing much for you to do
And the wind sure blows cold way out there