A Man Was Made To Work

I’ve spent a lifetime; looking down this same old road And; all the memories that, upon me it has bestowed I watched the children play and grow, as some stayed There were others; who left, married, some led astray But the old brickwork of the streets remains the same The old colliery; its gates closed unemployed to shame As the skies though were clearer; in their lack of smog Spirits plummeting; as thoughts, to a better life befog As men got wearier; their sense of purpose in disarray Wives and mothers struggling; their men, without pay The days of a man breaking his back digging black gold Now all left dejected; their souls being, so cheaply sold Honest working men; their lives are driven to the drink In their attempt to drown their sorrows hoping to sink All weddings attended; all built now, on unsure ground A sense of dourness; of babies in their newborn sound Funerals mourned; to men gone, well, before their time As pennies given to prevent their kid's going into crime Nothing changes; nothing ever will, forsaken and forgot And I still stand here; still rooted, to this same old spot As idling time and, still looking down this same old road This legacy of shame and poverty that on me bestowed Indiana Shaw . . . -_- "I have used a small part of a picture I sketched from a photo of Hester coal mine, New Hartley, Northumberland, England, UK