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
Chorus
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-
Who look for a roof for their heads
With all good intentions of Knock-
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
