On the blue-green rising, falling tide,
Breathing in the pebbles,
Sighing out the salt breeze.
Chaff is blowing from the stubble fields,
Leaving the dried earth land it threads the gate...
Old mans beard,
Sticking to the wild plums...
Old mans beard.
And follows the pot-holed tracks
That lead to Shaletown.
The ox-mans soul forever turns around
And ploughs the stubble field,
Caught in the lonely mile
Between the roads to Shaletown.
He watches the chaff leave his dry brown eye
And swing over rose-hip stile
Under bronze-red sunset, cobweb clouds,
Dipping to the shadows
Dancing through the dead trees,
Over carts that struggle up the hills
Sticking into the sweat and blistered hands...
Nailed sacks flap...
From blackened walls,
Flailing arms to welcome...
From blackened walls
Into the groaning heart of Shaletown.
The ox-man turns and walks into the wind,
Towards the ceaseless sea,
Ploughing the lonely mile
As chaff settles in Shaletown.
The machines they groan and the hammers they pound
As night falls on Shaletown
The chaff settles in Shaletown.
Words: Simon Huw Jones
Music: And Also The Trees