At the top of the hill, in the dark, looking down
Counting the seconds with the waiting town.
The lights fizzle up as the numbers fall by
Painting a new year across the black sky.
A palette of hope paints a storm of delight,
Bringing a false day to bear on the night.
But through all the booming, the singing, the roars
Come the sounds of the boats off the Mersey’s bright shores.
Pushing their voices, their deafening call
To make sure the river gets the last say of all.
The one thing that means New Year to me is the sound of the foghorns on the boats on the Mersey. It’s a beautiful sound that could contend with any choir. It says “I’m still here!” Happy New Year.