A Generation Lost

The ghost of Lincolnshire's Daughter Tonight smiles from her grave With the locking of iron gates Ends a plan that she made Every father passed to his son A family craft that was unbroken Doffing of peaks, kept in line With the banksman's pit token Then with questions of fairness Would lead to great losses They would stand toe to toe With their betters and pit bosses Westminster Right would revel In a working class decline Pomposity and misuse of Yorkshire's Thin Blue Line So with lungs blackened with dust A once strong Union's last stand They walked out lamenting To tunes of the colliery brass band