Empty Promises
When we were young we’d frolic on the beach at English Bay
A cooler full of sandwiches, we’d run and play all day
The seaside sand was cooling. We’d bury Uncle Phil
A jar of pristine beach sand still stands upon my sill
But that was thirty years ago though much has stayed the same
The Yankee dollars stole my beach for monetary gain
They told us not to worry, the pipelines couldn’t fail
But now there’s only bunker oil along the beachside trails
Salmon floats on bitumen between abandoned logs
You never notice anyone out walking with their dogs
They had a first-class strategy for containing any spills
Booms and scrapers, pumps and foam. They said they’d foot the bill
Strategy ain’t money, and both were insufficient
The companies went belly-up like salmon down in Richmond
But politicos in Ottawa and the bastards in North Dallas
Are miles behind the firing line. They’re hiding in their palace
