[Intro - A lonely, echoing harmonica melody followed by a soft, rhythmic acoustic guitar pluck] [Verse 1] Hello? Sharon? Can you hear me through the hum? It’s Kev. I’m calling from a place where the Wi-Fi’s truly numb. I’m sitting by a standing stone, the signal’s a bit thin, Somewhere between a pasty shop and where the world begins. I know I said I’d be home by six to watch the evening news, But I’ve had a bit of car trouble... well, more like temporal blues. The Grasmere’s still a-purring, but the skyline’s looking wrong, There’s no Lidl on the corner, just a monk who sings a song. [Chorus - Soft, swaying folk harmony] Oh Sharon, love, don’t wait for me, don't put the kettle on, I’m three hundred miles from Bodmin and seven centuries gone. The grass is lush and green out here, but the tea is mostly weeds, And there isn't a single petrol pump for a groundskeeper’s needs. (No unleaded, love...) I’m a long way from the council flat, but I’ve still got my hi-vis on. [Verse 2 - Witty but weary delivery] I’ve killed a giant pussycat and I’ve won a bloody joust, I’m living in a castle now, though it’s probably got louse. The King thinks I’m a wizard, Sharon, he wants me for his lad, But I miss the way you burn the toast, it’s driving me quite mad. I tried to explain a microwave to a bloke called Friar John, He tried to exorcise my boots and told me to be gone. There’s no "nine ninety-nine" meal deals, no Sunday morning lie-in, Just me and this iron-growling beast and the Cornish wind a-sighing. [Harmonica solo - mournful and slow] [Verse 3 - Dense and reflective] I’ve got a bag of silver coins I can’t spend in the Spar, I’m the most famous man in Christendom, but I haven't got a car. The air is clean, the stars are bright, the cider’s proper rough, But one day without an internet connection is quite enough. I’ve carved your name in an oak tree, right next to the mower’s shed, I hope you found that twenty quid I hid beneath the bed. Tell the boys I’m doing fine, tell the boss I’ve gone on strike, I’m stuck in the middle ages, love, on a motorized trike. [Bridge - Delicate, high-pitched fiddle notes] The stone is getting cold now, and the purple light is fading, There’s a group of Vikings on the coast who’ve started up their raiding. I’d better go and mow ‘em down, or hide behind a wall, Sharon, if you can hear this... I love you after all. [pause] (Did you remember to put the bins out?) [pause] [Chorus - Faint, more acoustic] Oh Sharon, love, don’t wait for me, don't put the kettle on, I’m three hundred miles from Bodmin and seven centuries gone. The grass is lush and green out here, but the tea is mostly weeds, And there isn't a single petrol pump for a groundskeeper’s needs. [Outro - Fading guitar and the sound of wind on the moors] I’ll try and find a way back... Maybe if I hit that bump at forty miles an hour... Dreckly, Sharon. Dreckly. [Final soft harmonica breath] [End]
