Paroles de Every Valley
The sun rose first on the dead and on the sleepingOn the ruins of Victorian ironworks
On the terraced roofs of the miners
On the weekday pubs, and the Sunday chapels
And on the grimy, frowny hills
Every little boy's ambition in my valley was to become a miner
There was the arrogant strut of the lords of the coal face
One could stand on street corners and look at the posh people pass with hostile eyes
Insulting were these cold looks, because they were the kings of the underworld
There was the arrogant strut of the lords of the coal face
One could stand on street corners and look at the posh people pass with hostile eyes
Insulting were these cold looks, because they were the kings of the underworld
J. Willgoose Esq.
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© MUSIC SALES CORPORATION
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