The Can Do

— Brian W. Flynn

In a dozen coastal towns, when the sun is going down,
When the boats are tied and the fishing is all through,
For one more shot-and-beer you'll probably get to hear,
The story of a boat they call Can Do.

 So lift your glass to the seasons as they pass,
To the men who sail the seas alone.
Say a prayer for the women waiting there,
For the sailors who never will come home.

 A blizzard from the north blew the tanker off her course,
And the Global Hope was grounded in the sand.
Forty men they said, then the radio went dead,
No one knew she was just a mile from land.

 The Can Do heard the call, and even though the boat was small,
They laughed to think a tanker could get lost.
With a single silent voice, they knew they had no choice,
To find the Global Hope at any cost.

 The snow made them blind and the seas could read their mind,
And the wind screamed at every turn they made.
Then a big one hit the side and it flipped her like a dime,
And it drove her like a nail into the wave.

 Now there's a little boy who plays by the harbor every day,
And his mother cannot hide her tears too long.
For she knows saltwater runs in the blood of sailors' sons,
And she knows there's no ending to this song.

 So lift your glass to the seasons as they pass,
To the men who sail the seas alone.
Say a prayer for the women waiting there,
For the sailors who never will come home.

 And drink to the crew of the boat they call Can Do,
Lost that day beneath the foam.
For their sailing where its warm, where they'll never see a storm,
They're the sailors who never will come home.