My Dad. Gonna Take a Trip to Trebarwith Strand

Gonna take a trip to Cornwall Down to Trebarwith strand Thinking about my old man I'm parking in the top car park It's the one where we heard Elvis had died The rain had forced us off the beach August 77 we sat in the car steaming the windows Dad turned the engine on and it came over the radio I'm following the stream down to the sea The wall seems lower now I can see trout Battling the current I haven't even checked the tides It's the end of the summer The few shops are trying to grab The last of the trade but the sea Is crashing on the rocks there's no beach I turn left and walk up the hill It's cool and blustery but dry I can see people sat outside the Prince William As I get closer I can see uncle Bert and Dad The breeze blowing his hair around Uncle Bert is cleaning his pipe Bits of tobacco are dropping in his pint He's starting one of his stories Something about catching pike in a bucket I get myself a pint and sit with them Dad has a chunky white sweater on He struggles to light a cigarette against the wind I go to say something but I guess it doesn't matter now The tide starts to edge out I finish my pint I ask them if they won't to walk on the beach But Bert has ordered another pint There's some talk of collect mussels A run to Widemouth bay I get down to the first bit of exposed beach The wind has got up, a boy is flying a kite He lets go of the string it drags in the surf The weight on the water hold the kite in the air The kite is blow out to sea I keep watching it past the island My eyes straining against the fading light I lose sight of it, I know it's still there But I can't see it anymore Somethings in life are like that...