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[ti:] |
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[ar:] |
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[al:] |
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Come gather 'round friends |
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And I'll tell you a tale |
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Of when the red iron armpits ran plenty |
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But the cardboard filled windows |
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And old men on the benches |
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Tell you now that the whole town is empty |
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In the north end of town |
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My own children have grown |
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Well I was raised on the other |
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In the wee hours of youth |
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My mother took sick |
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And I was brought up by my brother |
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The iron ore poured |
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As the years passed the door |
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The drag lines an' the shovels they was a-humming |
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Till one day my brother |
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Failed to come home |
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The same as my father before him |
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Well a long winter's wait |
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From the window I watched |
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My friends they couldn't have been kinder |
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And my schooling was cut |
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As I quit in the spring |
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To marry John Thomas, a miner |
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Oh the years passed again |
| [01:48.71] |
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And the givin' was good |
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With the lunch bucket filled every season |
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What with three babies born |
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The work was cut down |
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To a half a day's shift with no reason |
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Then the shaft was soon shut |
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And more work was cut |
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And the fire in the air, it felt frozen |
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Till a man come to speak |
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And he said in one week |
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That number eleven was closin' |
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They complained, in the east |
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They are paying too high |
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They say that your ore ain't worth digging |
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That it's much cheaper down |
| [02:55.09] |
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In the South American towns |
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Where the miners work almost for nothing |
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So the mining gates locked |
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And the red iron rotted |
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And the room smelled heavy from drinking |
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And the sad, silent song |
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Made the hour twice as long |
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As I waited for the sun to go sinking |
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I lived by the window |
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As he talked to himself |
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This silence of tongues it was building |
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Then one morning's wake |
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The bed it was bare |
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And I was left alone with three children |
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The summer is gone |
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The ground's turning cold |
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The stores one by one they're a foldin' |
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My children will go |
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As soon as they grow |
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Well, there ain't nothing here now to hold them |
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