Stake your claim to this empty shell A seaside fame of auburn swell And all cleaned out and left for dead Held on by one last thread Skip on sands over empty wells And cut from a ground and there you fell For a man who could not tell If he felt it as well Here the fishermen cast down From a town left burnt then drowned In that park, she could not tell If she felt it as well Oh my dear, my native soil For you, I've been so bland With this Blue Charm and Silver Stoat Pressed into my hand