By John Bova

Days in the coal mine,Never reaching the load.Miners are pickingFor that black gold.Daddy was always blessedWith these hands of stoneJust what the coal is worthNot your soul.Canary in my handJust what I am picking for?I don't understand.Some try to tell meGet out of the hole.Just you wantTo be dead before you're oldDays in the coal mineMy body entombedNever seeing light againand never seeing you.