Down in the dark of the owners pit
I work for my daily bread
Where my candle flickers on the brim of my cap
And the black roof shines overhead.
I hate the noise of the iron trams
As they go passing by
And the patient horse that pulls them
His not to reason why.
I work in this mine, I have no choice
Although as a man, I rue it
And my little children there at home
I pray they never have to do it.
I leave them asleep in the early morn
And I often whisper a prayer
That I will come home again at night
And see them playing there.
The toffs look down on the likes of us
For breeding we may lack
But my heart and spirit, it rings true
Although my face is black.
My face is scarred with lines of blue
My back is bent is pain
I'm working in a two foot seam
My light is a candles flame.
My pay just barely keeps us fed
Although I do my best
I look forward to a Sunday
It's my only day of rest.
Many a man has lost his life
Working down this hole
And widows wring their hands and cry
And that was the price of coal.......
Copyright Jan Price