This is the story of a man,
Who conquered life, drink in hand,
Ship unmanned.
Marked by genius, channeled good,
By some a bit misunderstood,
They’d been wrong many times before.
Some times our saints are sinners,
They blur the lines and lead the way,
Their way,
Raise hell and a glass in reverence,
The fearless lives of our great saints – our saints.
Never a stranger to late night snake,
Bite fist fights and empty pints,
Unrivaled heights.
He led with songs, they sang along,
Created bonds that held so strong,
Some were right and some were wrong.
Some times our saints are sinners,
They blur the lines and lead the way,
Their way,
Raise hell and a glass in reverence,
The fearless lives of our great saints – our saints.
It’s by the sea and at night’s end, that’s when the sin and swill begin,
That’s when he had that certain light inside his head,
For every whisper he would scream, for every drought he shared a drink,
For every sorrow there is a light from our St. James.
On the sea by the cliff he watches, he waits the night to see
The day his way;
Last call will find us all,
But there’s a light that leads the way, our way.
Some times our saints are sinners,
They blur the lines and lead the way,
Their way,
Raise hell and a glass in reverence,
The fearless lives of our great saints – our saints.