The Man From Darwen

The Man from Darwen Came there a man from Darwen, In the heart of the Lancashire Hills, A Town of industrial landscape, Coal Mines and large Cotton Mills. These times of hardship and struggle, Left its scars upon the folk, Working class agents of Victoria, Amidst black chimney stack smoke. Luke dear Luke, please tell me, Of your life and how you’ve been. Speak to me beyond the Gravestone, Narrator paint the scene. Born and raised impoverished, Education for you not required. Straight down the Pit at fourteen, There till your lungs expired. If it wasn’t the work that got you, Beware of Smallpox epidemic, Thirty-two years was no life at all, Short lives, Victorian age systemic. Luke dear Luke, please tell me, Of your life and how you’ve been. Speak to me beyond the Gravestone, Narrator paint the scene. Processional Cobbled Street terrace, Mill Lords housing their forces. Fourteen people in a two-bed house, Sparse luxury, but Workhouse far worse. Lancashire was built on Cotton and its Heritage stands the test of time. My ancestors were gritty and grafter, Working through hardship and grime. Luke dear Luke, please tell me, Of your life and how you’ve been. Speak to me beyond the Gravestone, Narrator paint the scene.