Oh soulless town, oh dreary place,
bequeathed its charm and sold its face,
a chain-store culture with no grace,
enveloped you at such a pace.
Arcade so new, but not so grand,
you stole my home and raped the land,
snatching childhood from my hand,
replaced by all I cannot stand.
Blue fronts, green fronts, fronts the same,
same old culprits, same old names,
comfort lies to heal the lame,
conform their lives to fit the game.
A sinking place, ’neath waters drown,
a subjugated King, no crown,
it‘s with regret that this old town,
is void of culture, going down.
THIS is Wigan.
First published in The Mudhutter Christmas e-zine, December 2008
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