THE GOLD MINER

Down into the devil's hole we go,

in cages thousands of feet below.

With sweat a rolling of the brow,

we place our hands upon the plough.

In dungeons hidden from the sun,

the miner doesn't work for fun.

With lights a burning on the head,

it's in our minds: a flood we dread.

Our music is that drilling sound,

retrieving gold, far under ground.

In dungeons hidden from the sun,

the miner doesn't work for fun.

Blasting makes our ears go sore,

like a hundred lions together roar.

Let's sing my lads, a cheerful song,

sending the laden trolleys along.

In dungeons hidden from the sun,

the miner doesn't work for fun.

Times there are, this life we spurn,

and for the clean fresh air we yearn.

Seeking for gold, on eight hour shift,

then back to the pit-pace, in a lift.

In dungeons hidden from the sun,

the miner doesn't work for fun.

BY J B ELSDEN