Th'scene arewnd mi I can't recognize.
All so distant to me ewd stompin grewnd.
Th'renovations only made t' demise
and th'old magic ist lost and never fewnd.
Them same ewd cracks are feelin' weary weathered walk
and those same ewd faces are never arewnd
are streets sorely seek th'old polite friendly talk!
Newh everywun passes withewt a sewnd.
leyk a perfec' egg, but f' missin' yolk;
are town 'as gloss, but's lackin are heart.
There is summat diminshed abewt folk.
A search in vain f' preyd, passion n art,
cus a feel shame in culture's dreary decline.
Lancashire lost it's local charm from th'start
we's selling are spirit, wiv newh crossed th'line,
sum will be missed, but am sorry, a mus' depart.
I could not pretend that everything was fine
so I dived overboard the sinking ship.
Now beholding this foreign land as mine,
I have found myself a much stronger grip.
I may have left you, but you shouldn't moan,
we shall meet again, it only takes a short grip
as now I have somewhere to proudly call home.
Getting attached would only make me slip.
I can truly say I no longer feel alone,
I feel that I'm somewhere I belong,
like a distant king finding his foreign throne,
I was destined to be here all along.
"Th'old Blackburn folk asn't bin too wise"
as all once fair has been made wretched and wrong,
as the stench of the vile begins to rise
I hope that they once again find the beauty of their song.
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