Beneath this earth, dry and bereft of lights
Dust fills their lungs and their faces go black
Long hard hours, dripping with sweat and late nights
Shovelling the earth till the bell calls back.
All these days without looking at the sun
At the month’s end he gets a bit of coin
His wife’s wants and the wishes of his son
Who he can’t see under the soil.
Going down the mine shaft he is hoping
In the end everything will fall in place
For a peaceful retirement he’s working
When he leaves this dusty and enclosed space.
Oh no, he is coughing blood on his hands
Just another miner lost in these lands.