My hands are cracked, my back is bent,
With coal dust deep, my skin is rent.
From dawn till dusk, I toiled and sweat,
In darkness deep, my life I met.
The mine, my home, a beast of stone,
Where danger lurks, and life is known
By the flicker of a lamp's weak glow,
And the rumble of the earth below.
My father's son, a miner's breed,
The black lung's cough, a whispered creed,
We mined for wealth, for life's small grace,
But the greed of men, left no safe space.
They squeezed us dry, like coal we mined,
And left us bare, our futures confined.
So we stood strong, a brotherhood bold,
Our voices raised, our story told.
For fair conditions, for a decent wage,
For safety's light, to turn the page.
We marched in lines, a sea of black,
Against the greed, our stand we'd make.
The strike, a storm, a tempest fierce,
Our hearts ablaze, our spirits pierce.
We fought for what we earned, we knew,
A better life, for me and you.
But hardship gnawed, our families strained,
The hunger pangs, our spirits drained.
Yet still we held, with grit and might,
For a life's worth, to claim our right.
And now the strike, it fades away,
A memory etched, in the coal dust grey.
But the spirit burns, in each heart's core,
The miner's fight, forevermore.