14 March 2013
The moon lit up the cobbles on a starless pitch black night
A million sleeping hedgehogs with not a single spine in sight
Who knows what these rocky roads have seen over the years
From 1880's London to Clovelly, Devonshire
Hansom cabs are rattling on their splintered wooden wheels
No suspension for the motor car, at least that's how it feels
Ripper red, the cobbles hold his true identity
Among the spit and shit is where his newest victim be
They line the road to shipyards where the docker spends his day
His boots are ruined daily so to boost the cobblers pay
And down in oldest Leigh the cobbles stray past cockle sheds
A pint or two and estuary air will go straight to your head
With motorways and carriageways costing a princely sum
I can hear the cobbled streets say we'll be here for years to come...
Cobbles • Opuss № I