Letras
Midnight oil burnin' off the coast of Dutch,
Steel deck groans, tide's got a clutch.
Pullin' pots in the bering sea spray,
Where time don't sleep and gods don't play.
Ain't no clock, just lines and tide,
We sweat, we curse, we haul with pride.
They don't get it — not unless you're here,
Face to face with cold and fear.
We got salt in our veins, diesel in our dreams,
Out where the Bering cuts through your seams.
We work like hell, and we play just as hard,
With busted knuckles and weathered scars.
Raise a glass for the ones lost at sea,
They gave it all for this legacy.
And we keep on fishin', in their name,
In this hard-livin', salt-born game.
Town lights flicker, barstools spin,
Shots get poured, and the wild rolls in.
Fast nights, cold hearts, love that burns,
Then it's 4 AM and the tide still turns.
Hookups, brawls, then back to the grind,
Workin' off whiskey one pot at a time.
Hangover sweats, throwin' bait in the dark,
Still showin' up 'cause we leave our mark.
We got salt in our veins, diesel in our dreams,
Born to ride where the sea still screams.
It's a dying breed, but we still go strong,
Singin' our story in a work-boat song.
To the souls who sank, may your rest be deep,
We're haulin' your memory from the endless sweep.
Still chasin' the ghost of the men you were,
Still feelin' your strength in the winter's blur.
There's a kid on deck with his collar up tight,
Tryin' to earn his name in the dead of night.
Came to the sea to prove he's tough,
To a father who never said "that's enough."
Every throw, every haul, every line he ties,
He's searchin' for love in the Bering skies.
We see him — 'cause we were him once too,
Tryin' to show the old man we had somethin' to prove.
We got salt in our veins, diesel in our bones,
This boat's our church, this sea's our home.
We work, we sin, we love, we fall,