Chimneys, Moors & Me, by O'Hooley & Tidow (2024)

1.

CHIMNEYS, MOORS & MEI found myself in a woodCos I couldCos I couldn’t go anywhere elseLittle things in my headHunker down and divideLittle griefs around a fireSpreading outwards drifting farScorching everything in sightBreathing outOur places don’t fit the billToo much concrete, urban spillRawtenstall to Shibden HallChimneys, moors and meToo industrial, so much rainBursts of green against the greyFrom the window of this trainBringing us home againRealised I’m still outdoors Flat topped hills and dry stone wallsI am free on this burning moorRiver valleys with wooded sidesLunar landscape at Stoodley PikeWho decides where beauty liesCrowded peaks, or a home-made pieMushy peas on the sideWhen its damp outsideOur places don’t fit the billToo much concrete, urban spillScammy Dam to HeptonstallChimneys, moors and meToo industrial, so much rainBursts of green against the greyFrom the window of this trainBringing us home againFish n chips without the seaHankie of sand at the reservoirMillionaires without the cashCheers, we’re happy as we areHow the wind feels on my faceAll the things I cannot sayAll the tears I cannot mendAll the tears I cannot shedHide the feeling from myselfBeneath this hug of treesI’m breathing inOur places don’t fit the billBrutal beauty of mills and hillsBlack Dyke brass to Gracie FieldsChimneys, moors and meWater, grit, blood and dirtWe’re the proudest folk on earthPennines pulsing through our veinsBringing us home again

2.

CHIMNEYS, MOORS & MEI found myself in a woodCos I couldCos I couldn’t go anywhere elseLittle things in my headHunker down and divideLittle griefs around a fireSpreading outwards drifting farScorching everything in sightBreathing outOur places don’t fit the billToo much concrete, urban spillRawtenstall to Shibden HallChimneys, moors and meToo industrial, so much rainBursts of green against the greyFrom the window of this trainBringing us home againRealised I’m still outdoors Flat topped hills and dry stone wallsI am free on this burning moorRiver valleys with wooded sidesLunar landscape at Stoodley PikeWho decides where beauty liesCrowded peaks, or a home-made pieMushy peas on the sideWhen its damp outsideOur places don’t fit the billToo much concrete, urban spillScammy Dam to HeptonstallChimneys, moors and meToo industrial, so much rainBursts of green against the greyFrom the window of this trainBringing us home againFish n chips without the seaHankie of sand at the reservoirMillionaires without the cashCheers, we’re happy as we areHow the wind feels on my faceAll the things I cannot sayAll the tears I cannot mendAll the tears I cannot shedHide the feeling from myselfBeneath this hug of treesI’m breathing inOur places don’t fit the billBrutal beauty of mills and hillsBlack Dyke brass to Gracie FieldsChimneys, moors and meWater, grit, blood and dirtWe’re the proudest folk on earthPennines pulsing through our veinsBringing us home again