quinta-feira, 29 de janeiro de 2015

Um comentário:

João Palhares disse...

Here come the mine cars, and it's damn near dawn.
Another shift of men, some of them my friends, comin' on.
Hard to imagine workin' in the mines;
Coal dust in your lungs, on your skin and on your mind.
Yes, and I've listened to the speeches,
but it occours to me politicians don't understand; thoughts of isolation, ain't no sunshine underground.
It's like workin' in a graveyard three miles down.


Damn near a legend as old as the mines:
things that happen in the pits just don't change with the times.
Work 'till you're exhausted in too little space,
a history of desastrous fears etched on your face.
Somebody signs a paper, ev'ry body thinks it's fine,
but Taft and Hartley ain't done one day in the mines.
You start to stiffen! You heard a crackin' sound!
It's like workin' in a graveyard three miles down.