There's a town with the shutters down,
There's a place where the fields don't grow,
There's a town where there's only snow,
There's a land without ground.

I just arrived at the train station and it's kind of deserted,
There's an old man in an anorak who looks kind of perverted,
Just stubbed my toe on something that felt recently murdered,
When I cursed under my breath it was like everyone heard it,
There's a smell in the air that reminds me of hospitals,
They used to have big industry here but they lost it all,
Now the local council has a shortage of capital,
Ken Loach made a film about here that was largely factual,
The houses have hair loss - the hills all have eyes,
Following the sound of children's laughter might not be wise,
And you can be sure everyone has their alibis,
Have your whits about you if you want to leave this place alive.

The gates are creaking open but the curtains are all drawn,
I don't want to end up trapped on the set of a torture porn,
The empty cider bottles replace flowers on the lawn,
And the alcoholics howl at the petrochemical dawn,
There's a look about this place of budget special effects,
All a bit lopsided with hard to place dialects,
The coppers are small minded - the cars are burnt out wrecks,
And they haven't quite finished that coastal renovation yet,
There's no more multiplex cinemas, Greggs or Maccy Dees,
Just a working men's club, greasy spoons and nobly knees,
The birds are making nests of cigarette butts in the trees,
All the best and brightest will be out of here by sixteen.

There's an angry postman singing karaoke out of tune,
Yesterday's mail won't be arriving any time soon,
There's a post apocalyptic kind of vibe - that much is true,
But without the odd apocalypse what else is there to do?
The only form of conversation is a bitter moan,
This place has been abandoned, forgotten. left out in the cold,
You's have to be a maniac to expect a business loan,
But fuck it! Where's my anorak? There's no place like home.