| From the weeping womb to the tomb
|
| Towering fuming smokestacks loomed
|
| Aloft the emancipated industrial
|
| mercantile maroon
|
| Your heirs will be deprived this fate
|
| A penitentiary as consumer villeins
|
| Never to enter through
|
| the grim rusting factory gates
|
| Six, zero, two, six
|
| Nine, six, one
|
| Torn apart in the soul destroying…
|
| Six, zero, two, six
|
| Nine, six, one
|
| The granulating dark satanic mills…
|
| Subsisting shackled drudgers & drones
|
| Disassembly line of skin & bone
|
| Collieries not beaches
|
| lie beneath the paving stones
|
| When chattel black turned to white
|
| Rigid binding chains were hidden from sight
|
| The unborn will quench
|
| the thirstful smouldering kiln’s fires
|
| Six, zero, two, six
|
| Nine, six, one
|
| Torn apart in the soul destroying…
|
| Six, zero, two, six
|
| Nine, six, one
|
| Sweat & no redemption in the dark satanic mills
|
| An existence, subservient, binded you’ll see
|
| «A working class hero is something to be»
|
| An existence, subservient, blinded you’ll seed
|
| A working class hero is something to bleed |