We shall die a grim death down here And our bones shall turn into black gold And our own sons shall dig our graves For our red flesh would by then be coal (Complete poem in caption) We dwell half a day in the darkness mining through coal for the light. Rain never reaches down here to us and it always is a never ending night. Deep in the earth we tear through land For the grey coal of man's greedy need. Down here it is as hot as a furnace as
