To the tune of 'The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

The Coast Is Broken

This day is the time, said those left behind, to stand for twenty-three loved ones. Those souls ripped away, in a night turned to day, the eighteenth and nineteenth of April. The eighteenth and nineteenth of April. A wolf on attack, there was no turning it back. It was a ruthless, bloody horror! It was a ruthless, bloody horror! What went on, they say, on that frostbitten day, will not be buried and over! It will not, be buried and over! And for twenty-three dead a drive will be led, 'long the coast of Nova Scotia. 'long the coast of Nova Scotia! With permits in hand and the hearts of the land, those people turned to their Mounties. We need traffic control and an escort to show, support for all of those mourning. From Chester we go, down to Peggy's Cove, a scene of beauty and sorrow! A scene of beauty and sorrow! But the Mounties, they say they will not lead the way, nor block any roads; it's for 'safety'. The people, they hear yuh. They don't fit your criteria! And it's a pass on your offer of safety. They say, we've had a taste that was bitter, All that, facebook and twitter. Still we'll give it a go, and let everyone know, to take in that drive, red lights or no, And pay our respect to twenty-three souls.

Oh, there will be a great line, of rides of all kinds, down the coast of Nova Scotia. And those in their cars may wonder out loud, do they do they stop or keep moving forward?

Do we stop? Or just say "fuck-it, drive on?"