Christy Moore - On Morecambe Bay | Текст песни

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• Christy Moore
• On Morecambe Bay

Out beyond the street lamp's empire
And the calliope's roar,
Beyond the thrift, the wrack, the samphire,
Where the sea betrays the shore,
I have seen them in the tide's wake,
As the rain cuts through the spray,
Figures on the edge of daybreak
Walking out on Morecambe Bay

For the tide's the very devil,
It can run you out of breath,
It can race you on the level,
It can chase you to your death,
Yes the tide's the very devil
And the devil has his day
On the weary cockle grounds of Morecambe Bay

Here's the very life to die for,
Here's a life not as it seems,
Sleeping on a foreign floor
Five to a room no space for dreams.
Tempted by the urge to travel,
Strangers in a stranger land,
Now they dig in sand and gravel,
Plastic bags gripped in their hands.

For the tide's the very devil,
It can run you out of breath,
It can race you on the level,
It can chase you to your death,
Yes the tide's the very devil
And the devil has his day
On the weary cockle grounds of Morecambe Bay

Letters home with money orders
See how much we earned today;
Tales of crossing Europe's borders,
So we came to Morecambe Bay;
This is where the cockles sleep
In their beds so soft and sound;
This is where our watch we keep
On these weary cockle grounds

For the devil's in the tide's flood
He'll be weighing down your shoes
He'll be churning up the sea's mud
This is one race he won't lose
Yes the tide's the very devil
And the devil has his day
On the weary cockle grounds of Morecambe Bay

I have met them in the markets,
Brushed their arms in grocery queues,
I should have grabbed them by the jacket,
Should have told them what I knew;
Told them what my mother told me
As we paddled in the waves
Never try and race the tide
Across the sands of Morecambe Bay

For the devil's in the tide's flood
He'll be weighing down your shoes
He'll be churning up the sea's mud
This is one race he won't lose
Yes the tide's the very devil
And the devil has his day
On the weary cockle grounds of Morecambe Bay

Now I see them in the distance
Laid out in the dawn's hard light,
Helpless in the sea's persistence,
Twenty-three drowned in one night.
Up above in skies so clear
Their phone calls half the world had crossed
'Between the rivers Kent and Keer
We have raced the tide and lost.'

For the tide's the very devil,
It can run you out of breath,
It can race you on the level,
It can chase you to your death,
Yes the tide's the very devil
And the devil has his day
On the weary cockle grounds of Morecambe Bay

In Fujian, Xelang, Baihu,
Where they mourn their next of kin,
Where the men with snake tattoos,
Rack up the debts and call them in;
Parents stand, their arms flung wide
As their children drive away,
Heading out to race the tide
Across some foreign bay.
For the tide's the very devil,
It can run you out of breath,
It can race you on the level,
It can chase you to your death,
Yes the tide's the very devil
And the devil has his day
On the weary cockle grounds of Morecambe Bay.

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