He’s another day older and deeper in debt
But not from loading coal – today
Lifting his head from his pillow is the furthest he’ll get.
Tomorrow, he may lift a pen
And tackle the forms they sent him
If it’s a good day
Or he may write a thousand times
‘I am not made of mud.
I am flesh and blood and skin and bone’.
They want to own him,
His soul sold to the company store.
Gold or coal or fear,
Sixteen tons is more than enough
For one man to carry.
Notes: This needs a lot more work, I know. Or just scrapping. The song wasn’t one that really inspired me, but it was this or ‘A Christmas Alphabet’!