in memory of a miner
who dragged himself to work
and worked himself to deathworking for someone else
we follow each other around on shaky ground
his life had become to him
worthless in many ways
an expired product off the shelf
working for someone else
we follow each other around on shaky ground
the nature of his work
gave him a minstrel color
twenty hours a day
little time he had for others
we follow each other around on shaky ground
never got to see the world
he got a funeral and this miner's song
there is no right or wrong
now it's down to the wire
facing six feet under
can only wonder and stare
his name was a number
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