FISH!

Spirits dwell in this town of dusk, 

and a tower looks out to the sea as it rusts

Ships which swam in oceans deep, 

lay in the river, falling asleep 

So much to ponder upon Freeman Street,

the battered facades of the pubs looking bleak 

The black feathered bird 

with the butt in its beak 

The mums pushing prams with the joy bundled up,

past Blundell Park where the rowdy mob yell "f**k" 

And offer up other obscenities at the game, a finger pointed,

an offer of blame 

There's not much left but the black and the white,

not many jobs, decent houses, 

it's a struggle, a fight

I say that

Yet, there's still something here, the mariner's soul,

to look out at waves with a net and a know...

to ride through the rough to bring

the food home 

I say it with love, 

this is still my town,

and I wheep as its greatness 

sinks underground