A Man Was Made To Work

I have spent a lifetime looking down this same old road With all the memories that it upon me, it has bestowed I've watched as children play, and grow as some stayed There were others who left as married, some led astray With the old brickwork, of the houses remains the same This old colliery; its gates closed, unemployed to shame With the skies though were clearer in their lack of smog My spirits plummeting as thoughts to a better life befog As men made wearier their sense of purpose in disarray Wives, and mothers struggling, their men without a pay Days spent breaking their backs, digging that black gold Now left dejected, with their souls being so cheaply sold Honest; working men, their lives are driven to the brink Some falling to the wayside, turning to the demon drink Weddings attended, then now built on un-stable ground A sense of dourness babies heard their new born 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 Whilst 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