Some days I wake and feel quite blessed
at home up in the cold Northwest.
In Buxton, to be more precise.
(that land of sun-storm-cloud-snow-ice)
The locals are a hardy breed,
Buxtonian, in class and creed.
A cruder crowd you never saw:
uncouth, uncultured, rude and raw.
A timid herd, a tad obtuse,
quaint oddities out on the loose.
(But being bungled, botched and broke
makes them uncomplicated folk.)
Deep down, though, they\'re like you and me:
sad ships upon a stormy sea,
windswept, beneath a darkling dome,
all Eden’s orphans, far from home.