Mists of Morning Calling to the Day

It's getting late in the evening & the shops are shutting down
Boarding up their windows 'til the morning come around
The fires are burning sweetly, the children are hard at play
...at the end of another working day

The landlord pulls another pint & listens again to the tale
of eerie lights seen up the causeway, & he wonders if it's real?
It's a story that's often repeated, & mostly in this place
embellished by generations that are haunted by disgrace,

It's funny how in daylight that the story seems a farce
but as the cold dark draws around them, well nobody wants to laugh
The village has many secrets in its hidden murky past
Crawling out to greet them as they huddle by the casks

So many years & so many lives
but the underbelly it cannnot be disguised
Founding forefathers took the law into their hands
when the trading sea folk families first stepped upon their land

Down the river at the distant moorings
a steamer pulls into view
far away from its coastal tides & eddies
Midnight turns into the mist of morning
dew forms on the ground
& there's a freshness here that
spreads for miles around,
miles around ...calling to the day

Somehow silence takes his chances now
& his blanket fills the air
Ghostly shadows are in play seen on the green
The birds are still as the far away sea
calls the Steamer back to home
& so it turns away parting a curtain of grey
of grey... calling to the day