The Bells of St. Catherine

Inspired by a visit to a wooden church in the quaint fishing village of Honfleur, France.

Bells of Sainte-Catherine
There’s a siren song clanging in an old wooden room
Rings through the rafters and rattles the moon
Sing a few bars and the whaler lays down his harpoon
When the bells of Sainte-Catherine come tolling

The first mate is blinded by a rogue wave o’er the bow
Cries for the captain, wipes salt from his brow
The captain spies a loophole in an old wedding vow
When the bells of Sainte-Catherine come tolling

The schooner sinks wounded from the sea’s fatal blast
The captain screams a last prayer and clings to the mast
But our lady on the shoreline claims she’s been miscast
When the bells of Sainte-Catherine come tolling

Bridge:
I feel like I’m waiting for promising news
New Orleans singing the blues
I call on Sainte Catherine, sing a pretty old song
In my arms is where you belong

Up the cold beach crawls the captain with the first mate in tow
The siren song whispers where the northerlies blow
Black raven throws a shadow on the new fallen snow
When the bells of Sainte-Catherine come tolling

The captain casts a cold eye o’er the raven on the wing
He drops to his boxers and jumps in the ring
He’s footloose for a sea dog but he ain’t got that swing
When the bells of Sainte-Catherine come tolling

This old rocker carves up an American Pie
All the church bells hang broken, he doesn’t know why
Ask the dead boys on the levee drinking whiskey and rye
When the bells of Sainte-Catherine came tolling

Bridge

Well I never much cared for the dog-eat-dog life
Happy with a pretty book and a readable wife
But she traded my begging bowl for a stainless steel knife
Now I’m ringing the bells of Sainte-Catherine

t.s. corrigan August 5, 2005