Citizens from WACHEFELD by The Crows Of Albion

Citizens

The bakers, the millers, the butchers.
The clerics, the priest and the reeves.
The plougher of fields and the sower of seeds.
The banker, the scoundrels, the thieves.
The farmers, the tailors, the shopkeepers.
The woman who sits home and weaves.
Godless, hypocrites, sinners.
The bishop who prays and believes.

The innkeepers, drunks and abstainers,
Millworkers, miners, ships-mates.
The poets, musicians and singers
From grand manors and council estates.
From the Brigantes, the Vikings, the Saxons,
Come the heroes, the villains, the great
And the good of this old Merrie City
Via Northgate, Kirkgate, Westgate.

The teachers, the healers, the prophets,
explorers, inventors, kind folk.
Labourers, workers, rich man and poor -
Survivors of the Norman Yoke.
The nurses, the doctors, the chemists,
The carers of those who are broke.
Those who toil by day or by night
The gatherers of coal and the coke.

In the inns we will sing of these people,
Ghosts hidden behind the veil,
Of this place by the banks of the Calder
Where every one of us hales.
From the church songs that soar to the heavens
To the nursery rhyme from the gaol.
Where the pretender white rose king was beheaded.
We tell our proud Yorkshire tales

The clarion call of the workers.
The cathedral bells they have peeled.
The brave soldiers fighting for freedom
And returning with wounds not yet healed.
The indigenous and the immigrants
Local origins - or far afield.
Come settle in peace in this place we call home.
Proud citizens all of Wakefield.

July eleventh, Eighteen Eighty Eight
A change for the merchants and denizens
From humble Parish church to cathedral
Proud and noble towns folk to citizens

• Electronic
• Rock
• folk rock
• poetry and music
• punk rock
• Wigan