A dog runs on the forsaken beach,
The sea is distant, out of reach,
The sea and sky meet in a symphony of grey,
This is Morecambe on a winter’s day.

Looking back towards the town,
Chip shop litter, strewn around,
A chip become a seagull’s prey,
This is Morecambe on a winter’s day,

The setting sun casts a fiery glow,
On the bare beds where spring flowers will grow,
And an empty playground where no children play,

This is Morecambe on a winter’s day.