THE THIRTEENTH COAL MINE DISASTER

Are you down there? I hear my voice echo in despair
Darkness engulfs us and it stinks of methane in the air
I am tremulous at the thought of your demise
The lack of security seems to be a monetary compromise
Feeling abandoned as the tycoons plunder our spirit
Hiding from public view with their alibis
beneath an inhuman disguise
I am the Appalachian worker playing blue grass to transmit
the heritage of my surroundings with my hillbilly roots.
Proud of my independence as a miner in West Virginia
But the union hasn’t kept up the straps up on our boots
They seem to sleep in the same bed and all in cahoots
with the Wall Street bums with their pretty gardenias.
Is the union going to bust? I am scared to death it must
God shed Your grace on our humble homes as consolation.
We need a steady guidance to help us through their tactics
Collaborating for easy cash! This is their malicious practice.
As Lee Dorsey sang of how tired he must be our plight was a hit
“Working in a Coal Mine” I whistled every day as groovy as could be.
I always was able to read between the lines and feel their iniquity
with their demonic minds plotting to ruin our hearts in misery.
So as my colleague sits and waits with no oxygen to spare
finally we’ll strike against the molesting hands of those who do not care.
Slaves of a system which appears to have no change in sight
It continues to badger our only aspirations for a wholesome life
With the villainous director with his pompous crooked nose
We listen to his propaganda and the postulates he will propose
And scathe his hypocrisy with a hoax of generosity and dare
his assumptions with his dishonest rapport and laisse-faire.
Filled with an energetic fury and with every hand in one
we challenge with insurrection all of their diabolical fun.
Tipping over their tables to challenge the evil that has been done!
Since his soul has been trapped in sad seclusion
We have been contemplating a just conclusion
With the falling of dusk come the bats of hell
Flying their paths through a nightfall’s dungeon
Ringing are the melancholic surrealistic bells
preparing this company’s ultimate form of destruction.