Letras
Out beyond the stirrige lamps where the calliopes roar
Past the wrecking samphire beyond the shore
I've seen them walking through the tide
As the rain cuts through the spray
Chinese cockle pickers on the sands of Morecambe Bay
I stood beside them in the corner shop and in the market too
I should have spoken to them, told them everything I knew
Like our mothers told us as we went out to play
Never try and race the tide on the sands of Morecambe Bay
For the tide is the devil, it will run you out of breath
Race you to the seashore, chase you to your death
The tides the very devil and the devil has its day
On the lonely cockle banks of Morecambe Bay
Saw them sending money orders home, their hard earned pay
Tales of crossing borders on the road to Morecambe Bay
Sleeping in crowded rooms on cold hard floors
Such dreamless life is not worth dying for
And now I see them in the distance laid out in the morning light
Migrant workers, twenty three were drowned last night
Their final phone calls half way round the world crossed
As between two river estuaries they race the tide and lost
For the tide is the devil, it will run you out of breath
Race you to the seashore, chase you to your death
The tides the very devil and the devil has its day
On the lonely cockle banks of Morecambe Bay
In Fujian and Zeeland they mourn their next of kin
Gang masters with snake tattoos call money loans back in
Broken hearted parents watch their children stow away
To die upon the cockle banks of Morecambe Bay
The tides the very devil and the devil has its day