Oh, to the mine that filled the minds,
with it's gold lust and lore's,
millions of tons, moved by fathers and sons,
passed through her glory day doors.
Like thunder that rumbled the ground Neath their feet,
the classifier pounded the ore through the screens,
in a building that shakes and wobbles and leans,
for more of the precious glory day dreams.
Repetitive pounding of the stamp Mill hammers,
like the sounds of a thousand distant drummers,
pulsating waves that slap the chest,
watered down memories are all that's left.
The grind stone's worth, like a glacier crushing earth,
vibrates the vertebrae of the spine,
unsettled pace, that's passed by space,
pushed forward through double-vision minds.
So goes the procedure,
with no time for leisure,
for the ghostly goal,
of the Carissa Gold Mine.