It was late on August the post office closed

The date always stays in my mind

I was talking to a good friend who’d lived here for years

Does this mean our village has died


I took him across to church lane for a beer

And he started with stories of old

Of when there was three pubs two shops and a blacksmiths

What ever you wanted they sold




All the pacts and the deals that were sealed with a beer

That are still holding so strong today

Go to work on the fen just to earn a few quid

For a beer at the end of the day

We’ve got to keep this place alive

Yes a village it dies when the pub dies



We’ve had landlords with no name, who’ve lasted just three days

Who come here to hide from their debts

Oh its more a refuge for drop-outs and has-beens

Who look for a roof for their heads


With all good intentions of Knock-throughs, extensions

And visions that no man can dent

But it all comes to nothing when after 6 months

The brewery they double the rent




It’s moved away from a respectable trade

Of a man and his wife who took time

To note all that was said, of the comings and goings

In a small fenland village called Kyme


We’re on the slippery slope to a ghost town

The school playground has seen its last game

He said people moved in who came from the towns

They still worked there and played there the same



As I looked around I believed what he said

At the grime in the carpets without any thread

With just us two the landlord and two passing trade

And an atmosphere fit for the dead


No matter where in the county you come from

This story will ring in your ears

I guess everything changes, we’ve got to face up

Its been happening around us for years.



Any Old village  Brommell, Pout and Glenn

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