| Heave lads! |
| Ho lads!
|
| Forget the comforts of home; |
| you’re a nomad
|
| We’ve lost so much since we first started
|
| Are our hearts cold or are we cold-hearted?
|
| So pray to your lord or your foreman
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| That the sun might rise in the morning
|
| They told us hell was warm
|
| But our empire fell for shelter from the storm
|
| On the run from London town
|
| Nothing left but rubble there to plunder now
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| Torn asunder, buried underground
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| Beneath the tundra and a hundred weight of brothers drowned
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| Now we’re gonna need another crown
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| So huddle round, hunker down, man the shovels, plough
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| And every hundred paces pray and lay another down
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| Another mother, son or lover lost, the frost is out
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| For lonely drifters in the snow drifts, won’t be scuppered now
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| Stay devout, tough it out, til the sun is out
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| Trust the censor, shun dissenters, hunt and flush them out
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| Keep the faith and trust there’s grace behind the thunderclouds
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| Or fall in line and march in time against the climate, proud
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| What are we becoming now?
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| Is this the life we prayed for?
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| Time is running out
|
| There’s nothing left but labour
|
| We write our future in the ice like it was pen and paper
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| Leave for future generations more than just a generator
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| We must never waiver; |
| this is the price we pay for
|
| Safety one day for our children on the path we pave them
|
| In the end know that history depends
|
| On an empire forged in the flames of what we gave up
|
| Heave lads! |
| Ho lads!
|
| Forget the comforts of home; |
| you’re a nomad
|
| We’ve lost so much since we first started
|
| Are our hearts cold or are we cold-hearted?
|
| So pray to your lord or your foreman
|
| That the sun might rise in the morning
|
| They told us hell was warm
|
| But our empire fell for shelter from the storm
|
| Turn your collars to the wind
|
| As our odyssey begins
|
| Feel the ice creeping in until your bones sing
|
| As the tempest descends and your ears ring
|
| That’s the bells of the church that we’re preaching
|
| Now grieving is a luxury we spun to weave our cloaks
|
| Comfort, warmth, and plenty feel like centuries ago
|
| The storm won’t crush our spirits like a tent beneath the snow
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| Every upper lip gets stiff at 20 C below
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| No gold or silver, coal’s the only thing of worth to me
|
| The only precious metal to our name would be the mercury
|
| That fragile strip of burgundy that ever hurtles to the deep
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| Alerting us as Mother Nature’s taking every cursed degree
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| I’ve nothing left, my only treasure is my word to keep
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| Keep bellies filled, treat the ill, and preserve the heat
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| But can I keep the peace as we bleed through adversity?
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| How’s a shepherd supposed to lead
|
| Without a dog to herd the sheep?
|
| These choices that I make, I make to save our nation
|
| What’s a little sawdust when you face annihilation?
|
| Is childhood so sacred? |
| Or just resources wasted?
|
| Every value that I thought I had debased and razed to save us
|
| Heave lads! |
| Ho lads!
|
| Forget the comforts of home; |
| you’re a nomad
|
| We’ve lost so much since we first started
|
| Are our hearts cold or are we cold-hearted?
|
| So pray to your lord or your foreman
|
| That the sun might rise in the morning
|
| They told us hell was warm
|
| But our empire fell for shelter from the storm
|
| Growing up they told no two snowflakes are the same
|
| And every one’s a wonder, something not to take in vain
|
| Of Mother Nature’s beauty
|
| Of the universe at play
|
| Seems she’s abstained from duty, left us here and turned away
|
| Fingers splintered into kindling and hearts as dark as coal
|
| As heat and hope are dwindling we march towards our goal
|
| Committed to the hymns we sing so after all is told
|
| The generations after us aren’t cast into the cold
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| So burn us in the furnace, let our souls ignite the flame
|
| Use our bones to stoke the embers
|
| Use our blood to oil the chains
|
| We are nothing now but engines rending flesh to find a way
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| And as we fall we die to light a brighter day
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| Every shiver will deliver us deliverance in time
|
| Burn the incense of our innocence and in a sense we thrive
|
| Pray the future that we’re building will be worth its weight in lives
|
| So take heed but take no pity as the city must survive |