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There’s a road that leads to a packed city street
      Whilst another leads up to the moor.
There are traffic fumed streets with their bustle and noise
      Or a place that’s away from its roar.

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It’s here that the wind breathes cool breath on your face
      And the Tarn’s ripples dance on the breeze;
Where there’s wildlife, flowers and sweet tasting fruit
      And where soft breezes blow through the trees.

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Amongst grasses and rushes, and soft cotton grass,
      And under a crystal clear sky,
Birds sing their songs, build their nests, rear their young,
      And it’s here where the butterflies fly.

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It’s here where the waterfalls drop from their heights,
    To flow through their soft peaty beds;
Where the chaffinch and nuthatch, the blackbird and thrush,
    Throw out their song overhead.

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In summer the swallows and swifts swoop and dive,
    With the curlew and red grouse above.
It’s here, far away from the packed city streets,
      You can talk about life or of love.

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The August sun shines on the blue heathered moors -
    In September these moors become gold -
But there’s beauty in winter, with ice and with snow;
     Yes, even when east winds blow cold.

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There’s a road that leads on to the packed city street
    And another leads up to the moor.
Take that road to the city, if that’s what you like,
    But I know where I’m going, for sure.

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