Coal Not Dole

They stand so proud, the wheels so still

A ghost-like figure on the hill

It seems so strange there is no sound

Now there are no men underground

What will become of this pit yard?

Where men once trampled faces hard

So tired and weary their shift's done

Never having seen the sun

There'll always be a happy hour

For those with money, jobs and power

They'll never realise the hurt

They cause to men they treat like dirt

Will it become a sacred ground?

Foreign tourists gazing round

Asking if men once worked here

Way beneath this pit-head gear

Empty trucks once filled with coal

Lined up like men on the dole

Will they ever be used again?

Or left for scrap just like the men?

There'll always be a happy hour

For those with money, jobs and power

They'll never realise the hurt

They cause to men they treat like dirt