Your shouts of southerner are a sham
My hands stuck in this kitchen sink
Is not an image of what you think.
Stuck out on the eastern coast
There are things of which I could boast
You can stand and stare at me
But what is it you truly see.
Stand in the desolation of the Breck
In Fen, in mud up to my neck
Cast your preconceptions aside
Do not try to stand before the tide,
Take a run to clear the dyke
Two Mile Bottom is a five mile hike
A forest fire - the cause a spark
Heat on the heath and the park.
Now I am no village yokel
I have words and I am vocal
So sail in tranquil upon the Broads
Beware the bridge and its rotten boards.
Cast an eye as far as you see
An endless straight line of conifer tree
And the wind blows forever ceaselessly
But still this is the place I wish to be.
Head south to the fords of Gainsborough
East to Wymondham and Attleborough
North to fenland and the town of Lynn
West to the Isle of Ely and jump right in.
Mudcrow
30 June 1999
