| Oh let’s not think of tomorrow
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| Lest we disappointed be
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| Our joys may turn to sorrow
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| As we all may daily see
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| Today we may be strong and healthy
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| But soon there comes a change
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| As we may learn from the explosion
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| That has been at Trimdon Grange
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| Men and boys left home that morning
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| For to earn their daily bread
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| Never thinking that by the evening
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| They’d be numbered with the dead
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| Let’s think of Mrs Burnett
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| Once had sons but now has none
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| By the Trimdon Grange Explosion
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| Joseph, George and James are gone
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| February has left behind it
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| What will never be forgot
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| Weeping widows, helpless children
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| May be found in many a Cot
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| Now they ask if father’s left them
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| And their mother, she hangs her head
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| With a weeping widow’s feelings
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| She tells the child its father’s dead |