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Each day as we rise Lord,
We know all too well,
We face only one thing,
A pit filled with Hell.
To scratch out a living,
The best that we can,
But deep in the heart,
Lies the soul of a man.
With black covered faces,
And hard calloused hands,
We work the dark tunnels,
Unable to stand.
To labour and toil as
We harvest the coals,
We silently pray 'Lord harvest our souls'


Copyright Unknown. 

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