St. George
Island Daythe theme song — sing along

Morning light on the water's edge,
Crab pots tangled on the old dock ledge.
A dog is barkin' at a heron in flight,
And cats are purrin' in the soft sunrise light.
Porch steps lead right into the creek,
We don't mind when the tide runs deep.
Two dogs, two cats, one flooded dream,
Just feels like home by the Chesapeake's gleam.

We're livin' high tide on St. George Island,
Driftin' slow where the gulls keep smilin'.
Got the dogs by my side, and the waves keep rhymin',
Salt in the air, hearts stay wildin'.
Yeah, we're livin' high tide on St. George Island,
Wet feet, warm hearts, all the while.

Coffee cup rockin' on the window sill,
Rain clouds roll but it's peaceful still.
The dogs chase foam where the seagrass grows,
The cats nap close while the river wind blows.
No rushin', no cars, no crowd,
Just the sound of the tide rollin' proud.
If the world wants calm, come see our style,
We're doin' just fine on this flooded aisle.

We're livin' high tide on St. George Island,
Driftin' slow where the gulls keep smilin'.
Got the dogs by my side, and the waves keep rhymin',
Salt in the air, hearts stay wildin'.
Yeah, we're livin' high tide on St. George Island,
Wet feet, warm hearts, all the while.

When the tide rolls high, we are on patrol,
Tying kayaks down, got it under control.
And we move the cars a bit uphill,
Sayin', "High tide's just a part of the thrill."
We'll drive our trucks through an inch or a foot,
Cause we're island folks and we don't stay put.
Flood or no flood, come what may —
We're sailing through each island day.

We're livin' high tide on St. George Island,
Driftin' slow where the gulls keep smilin'.
Got the dogs by my side, and the waves keep rhymin',
Salt in the air, hearts stay wildin'.
Yeah, we're livin' high tide on St. George Island,
Wet feet, warm hearts, all the while.

When the moon climbs high and the world feels still,
We thank God for the life we build.
No need for dry land, no need for gold,
Just furry friends and stories told.

We're livin' high tide on St. George Island,
Driftin' slow where the gulls keep smilin'.
Got the dogs by my side, and love keepin' time in
Every wave that keeps on risin'.
Yeah, we're livin' high tide on St. George Island,
Home's where the flood meets a fearless smile.

Down on St. George Island, where December winds are kind,
The old salt fishermen are working — their secret sauce in mind.
They're shuckin' from their tailgates, smoke and laughter in the air,
Passing trays through chilly doorways — love and oysters everywhere!

Pass the tray, pass the joy,
Bushels full for every girl and boy.
Cornbread, salads, cakes so tall —
Come on neighbors, come one, come all!
No charge here, just stories told —
At the Oyster Scald, where hearts are gold.

We've got 5 bushels steaming, and the tables piled high,
From veggies, fruits and poundcake, to flavors you can't buy.
Bring a drink or bring a dish — if you're able, that's the way —
There's a quiet jar for giving, if generosity comes to play.

Door prizes sparkle — what'll you win?
A boat trip? A sign? Some oysters again?
Laughter keeps rolling, the fun won't end —
Just island folks, together as friends.

Pass the tray, pass the cheer,
It's the best day of the island year!
Raise a glass, answer the call —
To the Oyster Scald — we love you all!

Morning tide was turning slow,
Sunshine on the creek.
Boots on the crabpot gravel road,
No hurry in our feet.
We walked to where the marsh grass stood,
Where water softly stays.
You don't need a ruler there —
The shoreline tells the days.

Rock along the road held fast,
The bank refused to slide.
A little line of human hope
Still standing with the tide.
Two homes where the water won,
Boards leaning toward the spray.
A wall once built to stop the creek
Now learning to give way.

We opened up an old map,
Nineteen-oh-six in hand.
The shoreline drawn far outward
From where we came to stand.

The island's edges moving,
A little more each tide,
Trading grass for open water,
Slipping out on every side.
Deer ghosting through the grasses,
Geese lifting toward the skies.
We thought we came to see the shore —
It took us by surprise.

At the end of Piney Point Road
We stood where grasses meet the wave,
Shell and sand and patient roots
Doing what walls can't save.
Soft work beats a hard fight
When you listen to the shore.
Sometimes holding onto land
Means trying less, not more.

We came to talk of shorelines
And lines the water crossed,
But standing in that beauty
We made our peace with loss.

The island keeps on changing,
And some of it is gone.
Every tide redraws the shoreline,
Every morning still goes on.
We walked there asking questions
With the river running wide.
The clearest things we understood
Arrived with turning tide.

Morning sun on river glass,
Nothing left to chart.
Some places teach with silence
And leave it in your heart.

They came up the Potomac with broken masts in need,
Looking for fresh water and timber from our trees.
But the islanders knew every sand bar, bend and creek,
Standing between the ships and home —
For this ground was not for free.

We're still standing on the same shore,
Same river, same salt, same sky.
The ones who show up saying this matters,
The way they showed up that July.

We set the chairs on common ground,
the river running wide.
Red cloth resting on the bronze
with history inside.
Coats from seventeen seventy-six
stood watching near the shore,
And osprey on the pole above
had seen it all before.

We're still standing on the same shore,
Same river, same salt, same sky.
The ones who show up saying this matters,
The way they showed up that July.

Volunteers and visionaries side by side,
Every heart, every hand, every mind.
The Daughters drove a stake in the ground today —
Two hundred fifty years, and we mark the line.

We're still standing on the same shore,
Same river, same salt, same sky.
We put a marker in the ground today
So no one walks past asking why.

Same shore… same island.

Intro — fiddle starts alone, playful melody, four bars, then bodhrán kick and foot stomps join. Solo voice, storytelling swagger; fiddle weaving between lines, light concertina underneath.

Well his Lordship sailed up the Potomac
With his tail between his fleet,
Seventy ships and half of 'em leaking
And the other half asleep.
He said "I need some water, boys,
And timber, nice and cheap,"
So he pointed at our island
Like a fox let loose on sheep.

Full group vocals, bodhrán driving, foot stomps on the beat, fiddle sawing hard — everyone singing.

Oh you picked the wrong island, Lord Dunmore,
We don't bow and we don't kneel.
We know every creek and sand bar
And we're not part of your deal.
You can keep your crown and fancy coat,
Your Lordship, if you please,
But you ain't getting water
And you ain't getting trees.

Pull back slightly, solo voice again, concertina carries melody, mock sympathy in the vocal.

Now he wasn't here for glory
And he wasn't here for war,
He just needed fresh water
And some timber from our shore.
But a Governor who's lost his house,
His city and his name,
Doesn't get to pick our island
Like he's playing some kind of game.

Full group vocals again, bigger than the first — add hand claps.

Oh you picked the wrong island, Lord Dunmore,
We don't bow and we don't kneel.
We know every creek and sand bar
And we're not part of your deal.
You can keep your crown and fancy coat,
Your Lordship, if you please,
But you ain't getting water
And you ain't getting trees.

Strip to voice and bodhrán only, conspiratorial tone — like leaning across a tavern table — build slowly.

We know these creeks like the backs of our hands,
We've fished 'em since we were boys,
And when his boats came rowing in
We made a little noise.

Fiddle and concertina creep back in.

Not the kind that wanted blood, mind,
Just the kind that says "go home."

Full band returns, building energy.

This island's not for landing,
This island's not your own!

Loudest, fullest, all instruments, group vocals at peak — tankards-on-the-table energy.

Oh you picked the wrong island, Lord Dunmore,
We don't bow and we don't kneel.
We know every creek and sand bar
And our hearts are made of steel.
You can keep your crown and fancy coat,
Your Lordship, if you please,
You ain't getting water,
You ain't getting trees.

All instruments cut abruptly, single spoken voice in the silence, dry tavern delivery.

And he didn't.

One fiddle note to close — like a wink.

Sung in Dunmore's own voice — the villain's lament that closes the trilogy.

The river is a ribbon of silver and ash,
And I am a King with nae crown.
Seventy shadows of timber and rope
Wait for the sun to go down.
My men are all burning with fever and salt,
And the casks in the hold have run dry.
I reached for the green of Saint George bonnie woods,
And they answered with lead from the sky.

Oh, the land is a lover who turned her back,
The shore is a wall made of stone.
I'm a Governor ruling a kingdom of waves,
And I've ne'er been quite so alone.

The water is sweet just a mile away,
But it might as well be the moon.
I'm sailing away on a Potomac tide,
And I'm losing my kingdom too soon.

I promised them freedom, I promised them gold,
I'm giving nothing but smallpox and pain.
I see the fires of the isle's rebel camps,
And they burn like a brand in my brain.
They think they have won by the grit of their pride,
They think they have guarded the gate,
But if I cannot drink from the well of this land,
Then I'll fill up my spirit with hate.

Oh, the land is a lover who turned her back,
The shore is a wall made of stone.
I'm a Governor ruling a kingdom of waves,
And I've ne'er been quite so alone.

The water is sweet just a mile away,
But it might as well be the moon.
I'm sailing away on a Potomac tide,
And I'm losing my kingdom too soon.

Bring the torches to the rail,
Let the red reflection fly.
If they will not give us water,
Let them pour it out lest their harvest die.

Oh, the land is a lover who turned her back,
So I'll leave her a widow in black.
I'm a Governor ruling a kingdom of smoke,
And I'm never, nae never, coming back.

The water was sweet just a mile away,
But the horizon is screaming in red.
I'm leaving this shore to the fire and the wind,
And I'm leaving them ashes instead.

Spoken, low, in the quiet.

Let it burn.