Out beyond the street lamp's
And the calliope's roar,
Past the wrack and samphire,
Beyond the shore,
I have seen 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's the very devil,
It will run you out of breath,
Race you to the sea shore,
Chase you to your death,
Yes the tide's the very devil
And the devil has his day
On the lonley cockle grounds of Morecambe Bay
Saw them sending money orders home
There hard earned pay
Tales of crossing borders
On the road to Morecambe Bay;
Sleeping in crouded rooms
On cold hard floors
Sutch dreamless life
Is not worth dieing for
Now I see them in the distance
Laid out in the morning light,
Migrant workers,
Twenty-three where drowned last night.
Their final phone calls
Half the world had crossed
Between the river esureys
They raced the tide and lost.'
For the tide's the very devil,
It will run you out of breath,
Race you to the sea shore,
Chase you to your death,
Yes the tide's the very devil
And the devil has his day
On the lonley cockle grounds of Morecambe Bay
In Fujian and Xelang
They mourn their next of kin,
Gang masters with snake tattoos,
Call money lones back in
Broken hearted parents
Watch their children stow away,
To die among the
Cockle banks of Morecome Bay
For the tide's the very devil,
And the devil has his day
On the lonley cockle grounds of Morecambe Bay