Sorrow's Season

When the love I lost had left me by that savage, sapphire sea.

And the turning tides had told me that no longer she loved me.

 

I went working, for the season, with Steve Sorrow: my best friend.

For I knew, that love and loving, had for me, now reached an end.

 

We went selling, up in Bispham, windows, worked for Big John Cash.

 He was stout, but smart and savvy, wore a suit and black moustache.

 

Work was easy, Johnny told us, windows almost sell themselves.

Steve said: “I am not convinced, I’d rather we were stacking shelves.”

 

Double glazing wasn’t selling, Cash then had to let us go.

Steve said we should just go fishing, for some females; I said no.

 

Then I said, “there’s no one for me, living on this island earth. 

Let’s go drinking, down at Jenk’s Bar, juicy jars of merry mirth.”

 

When we’d poured away our earnings, we leaned hard on Christian Aid.

Stole the gifts from pouch and pocket. Then Steve said, “we’ve got it made!” 

 

Steve then found us work as Key Men, for Joe Coral, on the Mile.

(Blackpool's empty, fake Arcadia, soulless stretch of gold so vile.)

 

Two months in, and I  got fired: thieving money from machines; 

I ‘fessed up and said, “I’m sorry, thieving’s kind of in my genes.”

 

Steve, by then, had gone before me; called back home, his dad had died;

at the graveside he suspected; “she’s a source of suicide!”

 

Took a tram, at dawn, up North Shore, sun was rising o’er the sea.

 Steve then promised, "in the future, tide will turn, just wait and see!”

 

Then I fed him my suspicions, told him ‘bout her poisoned mind,

made up by her mum and daddy, creatures cruel and so unkind.

 

He just nodded, ‘cause he knew me, knew that I was killing time

 waiting for the god of battles to reverse their cosmic crime!    

 

All my heart I bared before him, as each scarred and shattered shard

cried for vengeance, on those parents, cursed with hearts stone cold and hard. 

 

And this was how I lived that season: grieving by that sapphire sea.

Life was drained of rhyme and reason; she had been my symmetry!

 

Summer lingered, but the breezes all blew bitter down the pier;

through my tears, I said to Sorrow: “what the hell we doing here?”