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Turn No More - Public Service Broadcasting/James Dean Bradfield
Written by：J. Willgoose/Esq
In the places of my boyhood
The pit wheels turn no more
Nor any furnace lightens
The midnight as of yore
The slopes of slag and cinder
Are sulking in the rain
And in derelict valleys
The hope of youth is slain
And yet I love to wander
The early ways I went
And watch from doors and bridges
The hills and skies of Gwent
In Gwalia my Gwalia
The vandals out of hell
Ransacked and marred forever
The wooded hill and dell
They grabbed and bruised and plundered
Because their greed was great
And slunk away and purchased
The medals of the state
And yet I love to wander
The early ways I went
And watch from doors and bridges
The hills and skies of Gwent
Though blighted be the valleys
Where man meets man with pain
The things by boyhood cherished
Stand firm and shall remain
Though blighted be the valleys
Where man meets man with pain
The things by boyhood cherished
Stand firm and shall remain
Though blighted be the valleys
Where man meets man with pain
The things by boyhood cherished
Stand firm and shall remain
Though blighted be the valleys
Where man meets man with pain
The things by boyhood cherished
Stand firm and shall remain
Though blighted be the valleys
Where man meets man with pain
The things by boyhood cherished
Stand firm and shall remain
Though blighted be the valleys
Where man meets man with pain
The things by boyhood cherished
Stand firm and shall remain
Though blighted be the valleys
Where man meets man with pain
The things by boyhood cherished
Stand firm and shall remain
Though blighted be the valleys
Where man meets man with pain
The things by boyhood cherished
Stand firm and shall remain
Though blighted be the valleys
Where man meets man with pain
The things by boyhood cherished
Stand firm and shall remain
Though blighted be the valleys
Where man meets man with pain
