Shale Calendar

[Verse 1]
You trace the tide mark high on the Ancoats brick
On a Tuesday night when the silence gets thick.
The A39 is a roar in your head,
a southern static from your rented bed.
You feel the grit under your thumb on the glass,
like every memory is built to pass.

[Chorus]
But you count the waves that'll never come,
you know this city's water's numb.
Still you find your faith on the seventh one,
it's a shale calendar, it's the blood you're from.

[Verse 2]
The Rochdale Canal smells of diesel and rust,
a poor replacement for the coast you trust.
You heard your Nan through the phone line's hiss,
"Seven tides, boy, for a promise or a kiss."
So you dip your hands in the cold black sweep,
a ritual for a god you don't keep.

[Chorus]
And you count the waves that'll never come,
you know this city's water's numb.
Still you find your faith on the seventh one,
it's a shale calendar, it's the blood you're from.

[Bridge]
It isn't prayer, it's not a choice,
just the weathered grain of an older voice.

[Chorus]
AND YOU COUNT THE WAVES THAT'LL NEVER COME,
YOU KNOW THIS CITY'S WATER'S NUMB.
BUT YOU FIND YOUR GRACE ON THE SEVENTH ONE,
IT'S A SHALE CALENDAR, IT'S THE BLOOD YOU'RE FROM.

[Outro]
The seventh one.
The blood you're from.