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
Tunnel hedges Old manÂŽs beard Sticking to the wild plums Old manÂŽs beard And follows the pot-holed tracks That lead to Shaletown The ox-manÂŽs 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 To Shaletown 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 In to 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
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