In memory of a miner

Who dragged himself to work

And worked himself to death, working 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