There’s a church in Marytown ,
It’s ruins lay forgotten in this cold old Cumbria town .
Just bird song now fills its rotting pews ,
and. You tell me “  the bird ****  dos’nt bother you ? ‘

And there’s a hole in the roof where the rain still pours  in ,
In this Cumbrian town which closed its doors ,
the first days of spring.
Where it’s vermin crawl about yet are never heard ,
except by the owls the cats and the birds .

So As a darkness falls
on to this canvas of grey ,
a famous artist once picked up his brushes to paint ,
Studied it’s red brick sandstone spire ,
Where ships coming home ,
once lost at sea


found  Bibles like the holy grail ,
a bowl of soup for the sick and the frail .

There is a Church in Marytown ,
It’s led roofs have
been torn down,
When once it was a bustling town .

When people used to sing and dance.,found                             forgiveness for their repentant hearts
But now the thief’s have all moved in ,
their plates of silver ,
their crosses of puter and tin .
they  left in sacks like Viking foe ,
who pillaged this  land a long time ago ,
thee pieces of silver for their tormented souls .

And so it is when we all fall apart when the grace we felt was a piece of art ,
to look and admire upon a wall ,
then  a chilling wind blow s in  to heed Gods call,
and your canvas is as Grey as the skies ,
as the rains pitter patter falls .
For only Then will our grey skies find a lighter blue ,
In a permenant reminder Christ died for you .