| One glance from the southern sky and a spark falls, she passes by
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| Waking from the creeping dawn
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| From the background of our valley torn
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| Our maiden leaves a bed of stone
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| Two hungry mouths to feed at home
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| In a ruffled dress, in a bodies bound
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| All tarnished boots, they weigh her down
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| Come in close and I’ll tell to you
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| Let those sweet notes rise and run me through
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| She’s a figure on a winding road
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| She’s a face that fears no heavy load
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| She walks a path where those can run
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| She pounds her week for thirty tonnes
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| Come in close and I’ll tell to you
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| Let those sweet notes rise and run me through
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| In the half laid of the sunken shaft
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| The rumbling of a deeper blast
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| Those steady stampers one by one
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| They draw the chambers and block the sun
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| Come in close and I’ll tell to you
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| Let those sweet notes rise and run me through
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| A last long leap, a crooked climb
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| As she’s summoned from the steam and grime
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| To a fading sun, a paler sky
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| A pale window to her bloodshot eyes
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| Come in close and I’ll tell to you
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| Let those sweet notes rise and run me through
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| Growing old with no repair
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| Her task and toll go undeclared
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| Bal Maiden, now your works run dry
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| Sweet widow from the deepest mine |