Land Shanty

A stroll down Parkgate Promenade, Cheshire


My boat is a horse

I'm an inland Norse-man

Sailing a tide of grass

On any given day I make golden hay

Over ocean fields we'll pass


Like ships in the night

In the dim gas light

Then never the twain shall meet

In taverns by the soil I rest from toil

Singing shanties o' the deep brown peat


As a pirate of the dry I read stars in the sky 

To navigate the open thatch

Hear the rustle of the tide

Nets of buffalo hide

All brimming from a good days catch


I was born to be free on the waterless sea

A burial-at-land for my grave

Terra firma's my crack 

With the wind at my back

I'm sailing on the mountain wave