Woe to the children of Bridlington,
Who take counsel But not of me,
Who devise plans to come on holiday,
Without even visiting our lovely Church.
My Spirit is sad,
You who come when the sun is out,
Who take pleasure on beaches and seas,
Taking rides on the crest of the waves.
You even carry your children
On backs of donkeys,
Just like your fathers before you.
You take pleasure and muse,
You eat and drink,
Forgetting me who created
All these wonderful pleasures.
Therefore,
Your name O Bridlington,
Will be written in the Rock Forever.
Until the Rock cries out,
And the sweetness of their sins,
Come before me,
I will heal their land,
And forgive their sins.
Then the pleasure shall be all mine,
Says the Lord.
Wendy Jae Rhymer
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