Here come the mine cars; it'sdamn near dawn.
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Another shift of men, some of my friends, comin' on.
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Hard to imagine workin' in the mines;
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Coal dust in your lungs, on your skin and on your mind.
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I've listened to the speeches,
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but it occours to me politicians just don't understand;
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the thoughts of isolation, ain't no sunshine underground.
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It's like workin' in a graveyard three miles down.
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Damn near a legend as old as the mines:
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things that happen in the pits just don't change with the times.
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Work 'till you're exhausted in too little spacwe.
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a history of desastrous fears etched on your face.
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Somebody signs a paper, ev'ry body thinks it's fine,
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but Taft and Hartley ain't done one day in the mines.
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You start to stiffen! You heard a crackin' sound!
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It's like workin' in a graveyard three miles down.
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Three Miles Down
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| Gil Scott-Heron |
