It was a miserable day and I was not feeling ok
It was wet and cold and grey and windy
As I approached my destination
I was thoughtful and with some hesitation
I was on the Fishwicks bus I didn’t want to get off
But someone was waiting for me.

At the bus stop should have been the girl of my dreams
But she just ended up a delusion
No kisses, no hugs to greet me,
I was cold and wet and in deep confusion

I wanted a pint but she wanted to talk
So down Leyland Road we started to walk
What a worse way to start off this day
Even worse was standing on that bridge

On the old Penwortham bridge
I lost my girl and lost my dreams
She didn’t want a long haired boozer
Or a sad poetic down and out lower looser
I was downgraded on the historical graded bridge

She headed back to her crazy town
She told me to go back to the countryside
She gave me a pound for the bus fare back home
It was a fake promise I made and again I lied

I waited on the middle of the bridge watching her fade from view
Trying to think of all my failed romances, I had nothing left to do
She was a ghost from past and she wouldn’t be the last
How many ghosts still tread on that Georgian bridge?

On the old Penwortham bridge
Standing tall since 1759
Spanning from Riverside to Broadgate
It’s beacon of the community but
She was no more the girl of mine
Now my thirst couldn’t not wait.

I was upset but strangely I was not in a flood of tears
Though it seemed the River Ribble was about to burst its banks
Stood all alone under a torrential downpour
I need a sturdy ship to help me on my way

Finally somewhere warm with some Bitter truth in my hands
I sipped on my cold and unfriendly beer
Trying to push away the memories of today
Couldn’t be seen in The Bridge Inn with eyes full of tears

She was cold as the cast iron lampposts that adorned that bridge
But she shined no light on her change of tune
She was a slippery as the cobbles that lined the bridge
Maybe I had too much faith in her, way too soon

On the old Penwortham bridge that I’ve used over and over again
Each time I pass there I feel a little twinge of pain
Remembering what I called the girl of my dreams
Maybe I got lucky being plucked at the seams
No cell phones or social sites back in the day
I was dumped into the cold river the old fashioned way
Not by tweet or a cold hearted SMS
It was a heart to heart kind of mess
Strange how that bridge has outlived us all
Times have changed and here’s my curtain call
No more Fishwick buses and the pub was shut down
Now we call Preston a City and not just a town

On the old Penwortham bridge
You can hear the ghostly clop of hooves on cobbles
So many memories from centuries past
I thought she was the girl of my dreams
She was not in to me and she wasn’t the last
So many moons ago, that memory I had to let go
She was heartless and cold as a fridge
But not as cold as that old Penwortham bridge.