Beneath the cliffs of crumbling chalk was once a path where you could walk.
The walk would take you down to the sand, where fishing boats would come to land.
Now this crumbling chalk falls into the sea, where once crabs and lobsters were caught for tea.
No scavenging left in this lonely bay even the gulls have flown away; they have left the waves and the spray are they to return another day.
Nets and pots have been swallowed up by the waves and now their left to sleep in watery graves.
A fishing village that was once a boom has now become an empty tomb.
An oil slick just drifted into shore and took away the beauty that it had known before.
Crumbling chalk that drops like tears on the sand that has been made black from the oil smears.
There is nothing left to self contain, oh will they no come back again.
