Working summer
John Betjeman buried in small church in cornwall saint piran of tin miners
Nothing but tit for tat scratch my back jack and i will scratch yours pitifully world we live desperate pain to gain
Met bobby vee by the sea matt munro gent you see Lesley Anne down so free cannon and ball we call alright tommy do for me
for thee fall in the lurking lake move me like morning cakes books and food summer pain knock me down my heart in vain lord take me to thy resting place
to a bairns cuddle doon to a misty moon tis a home poet from the toon remember the miners
walk as i talk backpack to sack of a trying day to the end thy hill what a weary day
deep heart tears i miss thee groans of pains not to see thee dark despair
Open turn to burn door open to ajar sneaking in the bar to see our star whisky in thy jar
Where do thy begin turning down my skin let us all do sin life love to you all back home i call
North Devon in heaven all summer i thee stayed work my home for a bone wet my suit cold to a tone surf in the bay i am to old
The curse of humanity to bear thy sick art limp rabbit’s in fields i so cry displeasure in thee to live in thy plain
past the time cilla was so fine sing a song to shine she was all mine in our world
There are bridges. to cross and the way is long but a purpose in life will make you strong
Abide with thee your so sad to see but thy remain free along all to see a moment with thee
Starry starry night painted to violets delight flaming flowers make it through the night the green fairy
The ashes of the day in the morning. are so red behold i get out of my bed smoke fire alarms to spread ashes. to ashes goodnight fred