MILLSTONE GRIT

14 years old, head down on a pushbike

set on your goal, to make for the hills

where the soft scruffy lowlands make way for the stone walls

and the becks flash with silver

and the slates shine with rain

Such a lonely beauty

your hands are so cold

but you’re glad to be up here

in the rocks and the fog

down in the lowlands

you wish they could see

away from the hedgerows

how it feels to be free

There is a power inside of you

a driving unstoppable energy

the world isn’t big enough for all you want to give to it

so you ring your bell

and watch the sheep run

Such a lonely beauty

your hands are so cold

but you’re glad to be up here

in the rocks and the fog

down in the city

you know they would see

away from the smokestacks

how it feels to be free

SOME OTHER KID, BELTING UP THE SNAKE ROAD

CROSS THE RESERVOIRS, WHERE THE LANCASTERS DROPPED

AND THE WATERS ROSE, AND THE CHURCH DISAPPEARED

DROP YOUR BIKES IN THE BRACKEN, CLIMB UP FOR THE VIEW

YOU CAN SEE CLEARLY NOW

CAN YOU HEAR THE CURLEW CRY – WHY WHY WHY?

Now you’re out on the top

and it’s such a long way home

to the north and the east

is the land you don’t know

maybe some other kid’s out there up on it

where the limestone gives way

to the millstone grit

CHORUS

MILLSTONE GRIT