They tell an old story in Grand Marais
’bout a ship with three grand sails
The sailcloth is rust red, baked in the sun,
But it’s old blood at twilight in the tales.
The vessel has an odd way of appearin’
From out of the fresh water sea
The crew, well nobody knows ’em,
And the load that they carry ain’t free
That green-bottomed boat cuts waves
In half as it slides into harbor
And a hush falls over the entire town
From the mayor to the Main Street barber
The trade that the crew does is quiet.
Don’t ask or they might slit your throat.
It’s whispered about that they’re pirates
And dark deeds on that craft are afloat.
When they leave, the townsfolk breathe easy
And the artists, with canvas and paint
Why, they fill up the shops with that sailboat
And the tourists think it’s oh, so quaint.
There’s money to be made in the galleries
But the shop owners are a wee bit afraid
That those pirates will come to collect
Their part of what has been made!
I’ll probably…you know the rest. Good night and may your dreams be pirate-free.
Lynniebeemuseoday 