He returned from the sea
With a head that was low
And walked straight to the she
He had loved long ago
With a day that was full
Of sole and of cod
He was tired of the hull
He was ‘custommed to trod
But when home is the place
Where the woman is king
The man hides his face
And backs out of the ring
So he’ll walk tired steps back
To the net and the pole
Though the waters are black
Here she can’t take his soul
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