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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

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