The frustration of small town life in a dying ex pit town.
lyrics
Over sickle,
Comes the day when I return,
From the fickle,
Come the call for all I’ve learned,
And the call is all I’ve earned.
How many promises, have I broke,
To myself, and made a joke,
Of the sun? (and I’ll remember your name),
Past the scent of the grey.
Fortunes tipple,
Mark a course, undone in smoke,
Playdo’ fibber,
Take the future as your bride,
On the past you built your fame,
May the future mould contentment,
Yet the present holds no sway,
Upon the man you make today.
How many promises have you broke?
To yourself, and to your hope?
Honey bee come gliding with me – Zig zag o’er the plain.
All clagged up with chalk – Come home to pebbles on the clay.
And the grey......and the gold?
But you know I can’t come back, for all that I love you.
Gob fire in the mine, you stand for fire – Not in that town,
Summoned by the call,
I’ll go on alone if you will not find more with me.
The white Hare on the heather told me where to go,
Not scrabbling in the coal dust – Vacant gazing at our pints,
With all the same old voices, same old stories, same old fights.
Sinking with that pit shaft in our small town life.
I’ll go on alone,
Summoned by the call,
I’ll go on alone if you will not find more with me.